


Second Chances

by Melusine6619



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-27
Updated: 2012-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-30 05:00:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 26,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melusine6619/pseuds/Melusine6619
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years after Arwen’s death, Aragorn has another chance at love. Can he accept it before it's too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. On Battle's Eve

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in 2008, it has been re-written twice now. Betas for the original were Sharon, Carla, and Getty, without whom I could not have finished it. Beta for the second version was Ireth. Thanks to you all! Previously entitled With a Thousand Arrows.

March, 3019, T.A.

The night was still. Cold. Few stirred, though many were restless. Tomorrow the land would echo with the sounds of battle, but tonight the only sounds were the rasps of stone against steel as weapons were readied, quiet murmurs of men speaking together. 

Into this stillness one man walked alone. He had shrugged aside his captains’ offers of companionship, the need for solitude outweighing his disquiet. Tugging his cloak more closely about his frame, he moved slowly, carefully avoiding campfires and tent stakes. Occasionally he nodded to those men who were, like him, still awake. The silence that pressed in on him made him shiver from more than the early spring air. It was as if the ghosts of his fathers watched, waited, making the heir of Isildur more keenly aware of the burden of his lineage and destiny than ever. Should they survive, should he gain the throne of Gondor, was he up to the task before him? He had been pondering the question for some time, but he had found no answers.

"You are wandering about late." 

Aragorn stopped and turned in surprise to see Legolas sitting cross-legged before a small fire, knife in one hand, a whetstone in the other. The Ranger paused, a faint smile lifting his otherwise grim features. He had not realized the direction his feet were taking him until now, but a familiar warmth coursed through him all the same, and he found himself in need of company after all. He eased down beside his friend and watched as Legolas drew the stone along the blade with a slow, careful motion.

"I find I cannot sleep," Aragorn offered in explanation after a moment.

Legolas paused and let his eyes roam slowly over Aragorn's features, noting with concern the exhaustion about his eyes and mouth. He had pushed himself past the endurance of an Elf this time and the battle had not even begun. Legolas waited for Aragorn to elaborate, but he remained silent. Finally Legolas turned his attention to his blade once more, examining the edge before speaking again. 

"You are worried about tomorrow." It was not a question. 

"Yes," Aragorn admitted after another moment’s hesitation.

"As are we all." Legolas replaced the knife in its scabbard and reached for his quiver. "‘Tis natural enough, with the numbers against us. But if we are successful and Frodo and Sam have time to destroy the Ring, you will have righted the wrong of your ancestor. And your people will have their King." 

To this Aragorn made no immediate reply. He gazed into the small fire for a moment before finally voicing the doubts that had been plaguing him for many days now. "And will the people accept me? Will they respect me? The people of Gondor will lose loved ones, all for my cause. How can I ask that of them? I do not know if I am worthy." 

Legolas continued examining his arrows, waiting until he held Aragorn's full attention. "You have accepted your destiny, and your people have accepted you." He waved an arm to indicate the area that surrounded them.

Aragorn turned to look at the sea of tents he had passed on the way. As usual Legolas’ words were as true to the mark as his arrows, but they still did not ease the worries Aragorn felt inside. “They fight to rid Middle-earth of this darkness,” he countered.

“But they have answered your call,” Legolas gently reminded him. 

Several more moments passed in silence. At last, when it became clear that Aragorn did not intend to reply to his observation, Legolas stood, gathered his weapons and went toward his tent. Aragorn followed, holding the tent flap aside as Legolas entered before him. The prince stowed his weapons near his bedroll and turned to study Aragorn's face again in the light filtering through the tent fabric. "As for your other doubts, I would not fight beside one who was unworthy." 

Aragorn contemplated Legolas gravely. This much unswerving loyalty always left him feeling humbled and undeserving. At times he wondered how he had gained such devotion; he had never understood. It had simply always been there between them. 

"May I ask a favor of you?" Legolas interrupted his thoughts. 

Aragorn turned his full attention back to Legolas. He nodded, ready to grant whatever he should be asked. "Of course. Anything."

"If I should fall, will you take my body to my father? I would not have it rest in this desolate place." 

Aragorn shook his head, not willing to think of his friend lying bloodied and broken. 

Legolas held up a hand to disallow Aragorn's denial of his possible fate. "You know I could die as easily here as anyone. Promise you will take me home, Aragorn." 

"I promise," Aragorn answered, his voice rough. 

"Thank you." Legolas breathed a sigh of relief. He vowed once again that he would take any mortal blow meant for Aragorn if he should be close by to do so–and he meant to be close to his friend during the battle. It was a comfort to know his body would not lie here while his soul resided in the Halls of Mandos.

Aragorn's hand shot out and caught Legolas' forearm. "I would not ask that of you." 

The prince lifted shocked eyes to Aragorn, but understanding came swiftly. He had forgotten about the gift of Westernesse, insight that all from Isildur's lineage carried. 

"Forgive me," Aragorn whispered, dropping his hand. "I did not intend to read your thoughts, but they were so strong." 

"There is nothing to forgive," Legolas replied. "But I do not rescind the vow." 

“You cannot do such a thing,” Aragorn argued. 

The Elf smiled gently. "You are the more important of us. You must not fall."

"Legolas . . . " Aragorn's voice shook as emotions he could neither name nor comprehend overwhelmed him. "You are important . . . to me." 

Legolas could think of nothing to say to that, and Aragorn took advantage of the slight hesitation. He moved closer, his hands moving to land on the Elf’s shoulders and draw him near. A heartbeat later Legolas felt the sudden crushing of Aragorn’s mouth over his, and any thoughts he might have had rapidly retreated under the urgent kiss. His shock soon gave way to yearning, and Legolas parted his lips, offering more. It was not long before they were clinging to one another, longing and desperation driving them, bodies pressed together as mouths coaxed and yielded in turn.

At last Aragorn wrenched himself away with a muttered curse. They stared at each other, panting hard, faces flushed. Neither was able to speak for some moments until Legolas released a shaky breath. 

"Aragorn?" 

The Ranger smiled briefly at the implied questions. Why? Why here, why now? "Let's just say, if I die tomorrow, I want it to be with no regrets." 

He opened his mouth as if to say more, but could think of nothing to add, so instead he smiled again before turning to walk out of the tent. 

A very confused Legolas stared at the closed tent flap through which Aragorn had disappeared. He could make no sense of Aragorn’s actions, nor of his words. All he could do was feel. His lips tingled, and his body thrummed with desire. He drew in several deep, calming breaths and tried to center his thoughts on something else. It was a futile exercise. 

By the Valar, Aragorn would not be the only restless one this night.

TBC


	2. Love and Loss

True to his word, Legolas guarded well Aragorn’s back, but no more than the Ranger watched his, two friends intent on keeping each other from harm as the battle raged around them. And when it was ended they clasped each other in companionship and gratitude, and if either of them thought of what had passed between them the night before, each kept silent.

But some blows Legolas could not shield his friend from, some battles he could not fight at his side, and these proved to be the cruelest of all. 

Spring had turned into summer, and with the change of seasons and the finding of the sapling of the White Tree, Aragorn awaited his bride. But she did not come; there would be no wedding. Arwen was dead, killed as her retinue was attacked enroute to Gondor. 

Legolas had never seen his friend so distraught, though he hid it as well as he could from everyone. He could not blame him; half his life Aragorn had been waiting for the day he could finally wed his beloved Evenstar, and to have her snatched from him in such a manner was cruel indeed.

There was one incident Legolas would never forget, one that left him both shaken and torn. He had been with Gimli examining some of the damage that had been done to the inner corridors of Minas Tirith when Aragorn had brushed past, his face tight with suppressed emotion. Leaving Gimli grumbling behind him, Legolas followed Aragorn and was just in time to see him throw a bridle on his horse and dash out of the city, weaponless. 

Swearing, Legolas jumped astride his own horse and lit out after him in his mad charge out of the city in time to see Aragorn leap from his horse with a bellow of rage and despair that cut through Legolas more deeply than any blade. It was only then that he drew his horse to a halt uncertainly; this was not something he should witness, but he could not leave Aragorn out here alone. He looked around and spied a nearby hill, thinking to stand guard from there. At the foot of it he left Arod with a quick word and made his way to the top.

By the time he had reached the summit, Aragorn had fallen to the ground, weeping. Legolas' breath caught and then left him in a rush, and he clenched his fists as he tried to blot out both the sounds of Aragorn's grief and his own internal war. How he wished to console Aragorn, but going to him was unthinkable. He could not. What comfort could he offer? So he had watched from afar, his heart aching for Aragorn’s loss, his pain.

Now he wished that he could remain in Gondor and help Aragorn rebuild, but he was needed at home. War had reached Mirkwood as well as the nearby settlements of men, and there was much rebuilding to do. A son’s duty to his father must outweigh his duty to a dear friend, and even more so when that father was also one’s king. And so it was on a balmy summer morning that the two friends parted.

000

"Aragorn?"

Aragorn was startled from his thoughts of Arwen and the time they had spent together in Lothlorien, when they had plighted their troth to one another. He turned to see Legolas approaching him slowly. The Elf was dressed for travel, his weapons strapped to his back. Legolas was eyeing him in concern, and Aragorn drew himself away from the wall upon which he had been leaning, gazing toward the northwest, and forced a calm he did not feel. 

"I have been looking for you,” Legolas explained quietly. “I wanted to say good-bye before I leave.”

Aragorn nodded. He had known this day was coming, but like some other things that hurt too badly to think of, he had shoved the knowledge aside. 

“I would stay longer if I could," Legolas added, wishing that his duty did not demand he leave his friend, and so soon after such a loss.

“I understand, Legolas. We do what we must. Your father and people need you.” 

Legolas turned his gaze toward the Pelennor as he struggled to find words that might give Aragorn comfort. But there were none that he could think of, and he felt as helpless as he had that day he had followed Aragorn. 

They sounded trite, meaningless, and he wished that he could call them back as soon as he uttered them. "You will have a beautiful country here, a kingdom to be proud of." 

Aragorn shook his head, his throat tightening. For a long time he could not speak. Finally he drew a deep breath. "Everything I did, everything I became, was for Arwen. She . . . she was . . ." 

Legolas shifted his gaze to the field again as Aragorn struggled to contain his grief. 

When at last Aragorn could speak, the words came in a bitter rush. "I always thought that I would share this with her, and now she is dead."

Legolas quietly offered, "Perhaps, in time, you will find someone new to share it with."

He knew that his attempt at consolation had failed utterly when Aragorn paled, and his friend turned away, hands once more gripping the balustrade as he stared unseeing across the countryside. 

"There will be no one else. I will not marry for political reasons. I will not abide a loveless marriage. And I certainly will not fall in love again." 

Legolas turned to study his friend's profile at the rash words. "You will find love again one day, I think. Or it will find you. It is unavoidable; it sometimes comes when and where you least expect it."

Aragorn looked at Legolas, his eyes filled with disdain. "You speak so easily of matters of the heart. What do you know of them?"

"You think me incapable of such an emotion? You think I do not know of love?” Legolas bristled. “Obviously you do not know me well for all the decades of our friendship."

Aragorn watched as Legolas' face darkened. With anger? With pain? He could sense a memory from long ago threatening to surface, but like a fish on a line it slipped beneath the murky depths before he could retrieve it, and he was too caught up in his own misery to truly make the effort.

"Forgive me, Legolas, I should not have lashed out at you. I shouldn’t have said such things." 

“No, Aragorn, it is I who should beg forgiveness. I should not have spoken of such things when you are still grieving. My words were thoughtless.” Legolas turned back to face him, features once more composed, though his eyes were still shadowed. "If you did not know, it is because I have never spoken of it to you. It is . . . Suffice it to say that I have known love and pain. I have known these feelings well. Your burden now is great, Aragorn, but time will ease this. One day you will find that it is so, and you will be healed." 

Aragorn shook his head. The long bleak years stretched before him, and he could not foresee such a time when his heart would find ease, let alone love again, if such were even possible. But rather than further argue the point with Legolas he changed the subject. "When will you return?" 

Legolas moved away and hesitated before answering. "I do not know. My father writes that there is much to do in Eryn Lasgalen, and he would have all of his sons with him." He paused, his brow furrowing. "I shall have to get used to that name. All my life it has been Mirkwood. But that is the way of things--change must come to us all in some form or another." 

Aragorn made no reply, though he understood what Legolas was trying to say. 

Legolas shifted his feet. "I had better go. It is a long ride."

"I will see you off," Aragorn offered.

"It is not necessary," Legolas countered, but he did not argue as Aragorn walked with him to the stables. 

They rode silently through the city, following the winding streets down to the lowest level, Aragorn nodding in response to the bows he received, Legolas stealing quick glances at him now and then. The last gate opened and they rode onto the plain together. 

Legolas halted his mount and turned to face Aragorn. There was so much he wanted to say, so much that could not be said, even if he could find the words. He offered instead a tentative smile. 

"Do not give in to despair, Aragorn." 

Aragorn’s answering smile did not reach his eyes. "Safe journey." 

Legolas nodded and turned away, urging the horse into movement. When he had gone not half a league he paused and looked back. Aragorn had not moved. Legolas raised a hand in silent farewell and smiled once more when he saw one returned to him. For now it was enough. He faced forward once more and leaned close to his mount's ear. The horse snorted as if he understood and broke into a gallop. 

Aragorn watched from the plain until he could no longer see Legolas, and even then he lingered until guilt over neglected business of state niggled at him, and he straightened his shoulders, reining his horse about to return to the city. 

But he did not weep; he was a King. 

TBC


	3. Letters

Aragorn,

I have arrived home. How strange the forest now seems since Dol Goldur was razed. The air feels more wholesome than I have ever known it. I have never seen such green foliage in all my years. What’s more, I encountered no spiders as I traveled through the woods. I wonder if I shall ever get used to not hunting them. 

There has been much destruction here, make no mistake of that, but Adar and my brothers have been hard at work with our people to rebuild, as I have been since my return.

My father and brothers send their sympathy, and I feel I must apologize once more for my awkward attempts at condolences before my departure. Looking back, I think it would have been best if I had said nothing. I only sought to give you hope, and I berate myself that in that I have failed.

Legolas

000

Autumn, 3019, T. A.

Legolas,

I am glad to hear news of your safe arrival, though I can understand your discomfort even at such welcome changes in your lands. I wonder how long it will take for me to adjust to being king. There are days when I want nothing more than to throw on my old worn clothing and disappear into the wild, but I fear that Faramir would track me down and drag me back. He has proven himself very capable; I could not have asked for a better Steward.

Please thank your father and brothers for me. And do not trouble yourself over the words you spoke that day. I know that you meant well, as you always have when giving me advice. 

Aragorn 

000

Spring, 3020, T. A.

Aragorn, 

I have just returned from Dale. My father sent a delegation to the town to determine what further aid we could offer the folk there, and it fell to me to lead it. It was not a joyful task considering how many men and homes they lost in the siege, but even so it was a comfort to my heart to know that we could offer them help. In that regard we have given what we could spare and have renewed our trade agreements with them. I am not certain I make a good diplomat, nor that I have the temperament for it, but Adar seems pleased with the terms, at any rate, as does their new king. 

I am almost reluctant to tell you of further news. My brother, Bregon, has become betrothed to a maiden from Lothlorien. Her name is Lenneth. She is most comely and very pleasant company, though she is spirited too. I think she will make Bregon a fine wife. I look forward to their union with delight. It is long since we had any happiness in this forest, not since Naneth passed. You have been extended an invitation when the time comes, though I explained that you might not attend, and everyone understands, for we know that besides what you have endured your own kingdom must be put in order.

Forgive me, I do not mean to dwell on your grief . . . 

Legolas read over the last few lines and shook his head. Best not to mention it at all, he decided. He drew another sheet of parchment from a drawer in his desk and rewrote the letter. A few moments later the sealed missive lay on his desk waiting for the messenger.

He rose from his chair and moved to his window. Faint glimmers of the setting sun filtered through the trees as he looked out. Unbidden, Aragorn’s image appeared in place of the outdoors, looking as he had when they had parted, eyes filled with so much sorrow and bitterness, and so little hope. A fist seemed to clench his heart, and Legolas closed his eyes, not wishing to dwell on that memory, though it often came upon him. 

At length the bell for the evening’s meal sounded through the corridors a few moments later, and Legolas went to join the others, grateful for the interruption, even as an idea formed in his head.

000

 

Summer, 3020, T. A.

Legolas,

Forgive me for the tardiness of my reply. First I must offer my felicitations to your brother. He sounds most fortunate, and I do hope to one day meet your future law sister. I thank you all for thinking of me, but I must send my regrets. As you say, my duties are many, for there is so much to rebuild. 

I can well understand your hesitation in regards to diplomacy. If there is one thing I have come to loathe it is that art. Would that I could bribe Master Erestor to come to Minas Tirith. Though Faramir is well-suited to the role, he is away at his home with his new bride.

I have received news from our Hobbit friends. They encountered trouble upon returning to the Shire, but managed to defeat Saruman and his henchmen and retake their home. I am told that Sam is to marry soon as well. It seems there is an abundance of these happy events this year.

Here Aragorn paused and swallowed hard before continuing. He could not begrudge his friends their good fortune, but he could not help wishing that his own future had not been ripped so violently away from him. He pushed himself away from his desk and moved to a window overlooking the city, letting the cool spring breezes soothe the sudden ache in his throat. Somewhat composed, he finally returned to his letter.

Gimli and his folk have been at work on the gates. When all is completed, I do not think any army will be able to take the city. 

And now I must thank you for your gift. We have already planted every one of them, with the help of those you sent to bear them. The gardens are much improved, though the trees are young yet. 

Aragorn read back over the letter, skipping over the words concerning their friends’ marriages, at last signing and sealing it. He returned to his private quarters after handing the missive over to a messenger for delivery, emerging a short while later dressed in simple attire and wearing his sword as he headed to the training grounds. 

000

Summer, Year 7, F. A.

Legolas bowed to Felwen then drew his new law sister to the side of the platform, where his brother, Candir, awaited them. He placed her hand in his brother’s and moved to leave them together, but his brother stayed him with a touch to his arm. Resigned, he stood at their side and watched their father dance with Bregon‘s wife. 

At length Thranduil returned Lenneth to his eldest, then moved about the floor until he stood before them. “I must have one more dance, my dear,” he smiled. “If my son will allow it.” 

“Of course,” Felwen accepted, placing her hand on the king’s arm.

Legolas watched as his father and law sister joined the other couples. Bregon was also leading Lenneth in a dance. He was happy that his brothers had found good ellith whom they could love, fair in both form and heart. Their joy radiated about them so that it was impossible not to feel the same for their sakes. 

“I am happy for you, brother,” Legolas remarked, turning to see Candir following his bride and his father with his eyes. “The Valar smile upon you.”

“Aye, I do feel so,” Candir replied. 

Legolas watched Candir watching his bride, and Bregon once again dancing with his own and felt again a rush of happiness. But after a few moments a new emotion ripped through Legolas. Jealousy. They had each found someone, and he . . . he was alone. It was shameful, he knew, to feel this way, but it was there all the same. He turned away, lest his brother notice his sudden bitterness. Unfortunately Candir had.

“You should find an elleth, brother, and woo her. I know many who would gladly bind with you.”

Legolas slowly shook his head. “I tried that once, and you saw the end of it. Perhaps I am meant to be alone.”  
“No Elf is meant to be alone. Our lives would be harsh indeed without the companionship of another. All are not like Maereth.”

Legolas grimaced, his hands clenching into fists. The feelings of betrayal washed over him again, sharp as they had that day more than a hundred years ago. “Once was enough to make me wary of such ventures.”

It was Candir’s turn to shake his head. “Your heart is too great and gentle to selfishly guard it. You will find someone to love, someone who is more worthy of you than she.” 

The words were so similar to those he had uttered to Aragorn the day they had parted that Legolas could not form a reply. He had given advice he himself was unwilling to take. Instead he forced a smile as his father and his law sister returned from their dance. He kept it in place for a little while longer and then like a shadow Legolas slipped out of doors to seek the cooler air and the quiet of the forest. And a chance to be alone with his thoughts.

Why did such happiness as his brothers’ elude him? Was he wrong to keep his heart from further pain as Candir had suggested? 

His thoughts turned to his one-time betrothed. Legolas had been completely smitten. She had been beautiful and pleasant company. He remembered the day they had plighted their troth, how sweetly she had yielded to him when they could be alone together. And he recalled quite clearly the day he had found her in the arms of another, his fury, and his hurt.

He felt himself justified in his reluctance to give his heart again. But even so, he could not stop the gnawing emptiness inside him now. It seemed to well up over him all at once like the mass of Orcs spilling from the Black Gate in that last desperate battle. Aye, he was lonely, he could not deny that, and he did want . . . something. Someone. 

He wanted someone he respected, someone who made him feel alive, someone who could set his boots on fire with one kiss. Someone like . . . He shook his head in an attempt to stop the direction of his thoughts, but they disobeyed. Ai, that kiss. . . . Did Aragorn ever think of it? Did he remember?

Legolas closed his eyes, as he relived those few moments–the warmth of Aragorn’s breath just before his mouth closed over his own, the feel of supple lips moving over his with a hunger that he had been unable to resist, the taste of the man himself, the strength of his hands, the feel of his body, could still leave him shaking even now.

Legolas tore himself out of the memory, grateful for the cooling rain that had begun to fall, as he now felt quite warm and flushed. That he could think of his friend thusly, that he could feel such desire, caused him no end of consternation, but it was the same each time he dwelt on their kiss. That was what he wanted, someone who could make him feel this way, but even more, he wanted someone who would treasure his love, not squander it. 

 

000

Aragorn tried not to show his eagerness for the meeting with Lord Alagon to conclude, for he had no desire to listen to the tales of his daughter’s virtues, charm, comeliness, or any other traits that he thought might gain the king’s interest. And Alagon was not the only one. There were more offering enticements to him in order to gain the king as a law son; there were others. In fact there seemed to be more and more of them every year. This one was worse than the last, if it were possible. Later the daughters themselves would be paraded before him. Again. 

He smiled politely and nodded now and then to show that he was paying attention, even if he was not. He was merely waiting for an opportune time to sneak into the gardens for a smoke, and to read Legolas’ most recent letter, which had arrived at almost the same moment these courtiers had.

Faramir cleared his throat beside him and Aragorn returned from his musings in time to hear the last.

“ . . . and we are willing to bestow a hefty dowry on Morfinneth,” Lord Alagon was saying. “Most hefty.” After a dramatic pause he named the sum.

Aragorn blinked. “That is indeed most generous. But your daughter is very young.”

“She is seventeen, in the peak of her childbearing years.”

Aragorn winced inwardly. Bad enough that he was viewed as a prime piece of meat in a butcher’s window, but that this man should advertise his daughter like a brood mare was even more distasteful to him. Worse still that he was being offered a bribe in exchange for wedding said girl, even though that was the way things were done here. If only he could easily dissuade the man without hurting anyone’s pride. “Still, she is too young for one of my years.”

“Not good enough for your blood, you mean,” the man retorted.

Aragorn drew himself to his full height and scowled down at the man, a scathing remark upon his own lips, but he managed could calm himself and said instead, “I will reconsider your offer when your daughter has reached her majority, not a day sooner.” 

Faramir interjected quickly, “The banquet is but a few hours away. I am sure you and your family would like time to refresh yourselves and prepare for it.”

“Of course. Thank you, my liege,” the man replied, bowing to Aragorn. 

Aragorn and Faramir watched him depart with somber eyes.

“They will never stop, you know, Sire,” Faramir remarked quietly.

Aragorn sighed. “I know.” He moved purposefully toward the door. “If any pressing matters require my attention, I’ll be in the gardens.”

He was away and down the corridor before Faramir could say anything further. Long, quick strides carried him through the tower, down the steps, and out into the garden. He breathed a sigh of relief, feeling rather as he had when he was a boy wanting to escape his tutors. 

Aragorn moved steadily onward until he reached his destination. Not long after Legolas had returned to his people he had sent a delivery of saplings to Minas Tirith. Most of them were planted here in the gardens of the Citadel, although there were many scattered about the city as well. They had grown quickly and now made a pleasant grove in which Aragorn often made his refuge when he could not ride out of the city. 

It wasn’t that he disliked being around people; on the contrary, he enjoyed their company, but they made him keenly aware of his own lonely existence, made him yearn for something that could not be his. At first he had not noticed how it was slowly creeping up on him, for he had been too busy. It was hard business rebuilding a city, let alone a kingdom. He had not minded, however; the constant work had been a balm to his battered soul, had given him little time to think of Arwen and her death. 

But as things had begun to run more smoothly it had become impossible to keep his grief buried; it welled up inside him, nigh suffocating him with its intensity, bringing with it anger and despair. Nights were the worst, for there were no barriers against it. There was only emptiness and bitterness at every turn. It was often more than he could bear. 

But just as Legolas had said it would, the pain had gradually subsided, dulled, until it had disappeared, not entirely, but enough that he could go on. Now only a void remained, reminding him that he was alone and probably always would be. 

Shaking his head to clear it of his melancholy thoughts, he withdrew Legolas’ letter and began to read, only to feel the loneliness within him swell once again, like a tide upon the shore. He missed his friends. He missed Legolas. Aragorn could readily admit that; in fact his thoughts drifted to him more and more often of late, just as his feet always seemed to bring him to this spot. What he would not admit to was the way their kiss invaded his memory, and how often it managed to do so, not even to himself. After all, nothing could come of such thoughts, so dwelling on it did no good.

And he could not let himself think of it now in any case. He had a palace full of haughty nobles to contend with, and he needed no distractions. Though why he considered kissing Legolas, even the memory of doing so, a distraction, he refused to acknowledge.

He did, however, as he stood among the shelter of Legolas’ trees, form an idea, and he quickly returned to his chambers to set it in motion.

Bregon—fierce male  
Candir—bold man  
Lenneth—sweet maiden  
Felwen—generous maiden  
Alagon—rushing/impetuous male  
Morfinneth—black-haired maiden


	4. Reunion

Spring, Year 8, F. A.

Legolas drew his mount to a halt and stared toward the city of Minas Tirith rising in the distance. “A reunion of the Fellowship,” the message had said, and he had been glad of the invitation, but now tension curled within his belly and his limbs trembled slightly. Soon he would see his friends again. 

He would see Aragorn again. 

Legolas sucked in his breath, one hand unconsciously clenching his horse's mane at the thought. It must have been too much, for the horse snorted once and then stamped his foot. Legolas gave a small humorless laugh to himself.

"Peace, Arod I am nervous is all." He smoothed his horse's mane back down.

Arod whickered his understanding and Legolas patted his neck affectionately. 

It was oddly calming talking to his horse, and allowing the wind to carry his words seemed to set his worries adrift as well. 

"Aragorn must have changed a great deal these last years.” Legolas’ voice dropped to a whisper as he admitted aloud for the first time what he had thought and felt these past seasons, “I’ve missed him, Arod.“ 

As always when he thought of Aragorn, his musings turned to the kiss they had shared. It was hard to forget; in fact it was becoming far more difficult to *not* think of it. Now Legolas wondered how he would react around the man himself if mere memories of that encounter could conjure such feelings of yearning within him as they did. What would seeing Aragorn every day for several weeks do to him? 

Arod snorted and moved restlessly and Legolas shook himself to clear his thoughts. "We will not tarry much longer, old friend, for I am glad to be home as well," Legolas smiled absently. 

Home. The word seemed to pierce through him, and his breath caught in surprise. That was what this felt like--coming home. Why he felt so he could not explain.

His anxiety settled and his excitement over seeing the others mounting, Legolas uttered a soft command. Soon the two of them were flying across the ground, drawing ever closer to the White City.

000

Aragorn was also urging his horse into motion. The steed galloped eagerly out of the gate and onto the plain in the direction from which Legolas’ message had said he would arrive. He felt neglectful in his duties as host to the others for leaving to meet Legolas alone, but Faramir and Eowyn had seen how anxiously he awaited the Elf’s arrival and had insisted that he go on while they entertained the others. And when he came upon his friend, all feelings of guilt over abandoning the Hobbits and the Dwarf were forgotten as he beheld his friend for the first time in nearly ten years. Aragorn dismounted and moved stealthily forward. 

Legolas had stopped near a stream from which Arod was happily drinking. The Elf stood in profile, one hand idly stroking Arod’s flank, while the spring breezes lifted and toyed with Legolas’ hair. The sight made Aragorn’s heart skip a beat and his breath catch, and it took him a moment before he could attempt a greeting.

“You’re losing your touch, Ranger.” Legolas turned toward him, smiling, before Aragorn could say a word.

Aragorn laughed and shook his head. “So it would seem.” 

They embraced quickly before drawing apart to look at each other once again. Legolas studied Aragorn’s features with delight. There were more lines of care on Aragorn's face, a few streaks of gray in the dark hair, but otherwise he looked the same as he had the last time Legolas had seen him. Only his eyes were different; hope sparkled in the gray depths. Legolas' smile broadened.

The brilliance of it made Aragorn’s palms sweat even more than Legolas’ perusal of him had done. There was something in those blue eyes that made Aragorn feel warm, though not uncomfortably so, but rather as he would resting before a small fire, basking in its heat. His answering grin faltered slightly as his gaze dropped back momentarily to Legolas’ mouth. With an effort he tore his eyes away, though not before the memory of those lips moving with his flashed through his mind. 

They spoke at the same time. "It's good to see you.”

They laughed together, each starting to speak again, and after several false starts Legolas managed, “I didn’t expect you to ride out and meet me.” 

Aragorn shrugged. There was no ready excuse for him being out here other than that he had wanted to see Legolas, to have him to himself for a little while. Even to his own mind it sounded odd to admit that. They were friends, after all, not lovers. Aragorn blushed at that thought, wondering where it had come from even as he shook it away. 

“Well,” he said instead, “if you’re ready, we should be off. How fast can you ride?” 

"Faster than you," Legolas challenged and leaped into his saddle. 

Aragorn mounted his own horse. "Oh, you think so?" He kicked his heels against its flanks and took off. 

Legolas chuckled. "All right, old friend, let's show them what a real horse can do." 

Arod snorted and tossed his head and jumped into motion. They caught Aragorn and his horse after only a few minutes and rushed past. Aragorn quickly caught up and dashed ahead. They changed leads several times, both of them racing to beat the devil and laughing all the way. 

 

000

 

They reached the gate of Minas Tirith at the same time and drew their horses to abrupt halts. Aragorn threw back his head and laughed in sheer happiness. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he had enjoyed himself so much. 

"It looks as if you've surprised your guards," Legolas grinned, glancing up. 

Aragorn looked up and nodded at his men. The guards were staring down at them opened mouthed, but hastily drew themselves back at their king's look. Still laughing to himself, he and Legolas rode through the gate.  
Talking of small inconsequential things the two of them quickly stabled their horses and made their way up to the highest level of the city. Gimli met them as they entered the hall. 

"There you are. I thought you'd decided to stay and have a chat with a tree somewhere," he harrumphed.

“Actually with several,” Legolas retorted. He enfolded the Dwarf in a quick hug, laughing when Gimli pulled away with another gruff noise.

“I knew it,” Gimli grumbled. “I swear it’s a wonder you made it out of that forest of yours.” 

Legolas laughed again, but before he could say anything else Legolas found himself swarmed by friends he hadn't seen in many years as Sam, Merry, and Pippin raced forward, nearly toppling him over. He grinned with delight and knelt down to embrace them all, his eyes meeting Aragorn’s above their heads. 

Home. The feeling hit him again. 

“It's good to see you all," Legolas smiled.

Aragorn walked forward from where he had been watching the exchange. Legolas’ smiles and laughter were doing strange things to his stomach again, filling him with warmth and happiness, and he had found himself reluctant to pull apart the little group, but his friend had just traveled a long way and most likely would welcome a short rest. "Come, I'll show you to your chamber."

“I would like that,” Legolas nodded. “I could use a proper bath as well, if it is no trouble.” 

“None at all,” Aragorn replied, nodding to a nearby servant who hurried away to carry out his bidding.

They stood some moments later in the room that had been set aside for Legolas' use. The Elf moved to the window and looked out. From here he could see nearly all of the gardens. Aragorn's voice floated over his shoulder. "I remember how much you enjoy being around growing things and short of camping out in my gardens, this room has the best view." 

Touched more than he would ever admit, it was several minutes before Legolas felt he could safely turn around and not have his face give anything away. He said simply, “Thank you.” 

Eyes met and held, but before either of them could say anything further, a knock on the door startled them both. "Pardon Sire, but the water is ready." 

With that servants began bringing in hot water to fill the tub that stood on the other side of a screen.

“I will leave you then,” Aragorn moved to the door. 

Legolas nodded to him, and when Aragorn slipped out, he found himself listening to the long, firm footsteps moving down the passageway. When the servants left as well, Legolas quickly stripped and sank into the steaming water and sighed. 

He dunked his head under the water and came up, grabbed the soap and began washing his hair. He paused, listening for familiar footsteps. The passageway was silent. He rinsed his hair, listened again, then frowned to himself at what he was doing. He reached for the soap and began vigorously scrubbing his body until his skin was tingling. 

With a final rinse he was done, and he stood and reached for a drying cloth. As he toweled off his eyes flew to the window, his heart catching again at Aragorn assigning him this room. It was a small thing, a simple gesture really, but Legolas found himself pleased all the same. 

He had just pulled his leggings on when he heard footsteps approaching. He hurriedly tugged on his boots just as there was a knock at the door, and he moved to answer it, surprised to find Aragorn standing there. The archer’s face heated with unaccustomed embarrassment as Aragorn’s eyes fell to his bare torso then flew upward again. He noted a tinge of red on Aragorn’s cheeks as well, but the knowledge that his friend was likewise discomfited made him relax a little. “Please, come in.” 

“I forgot to remind you there will be a bell for dinner,” Aragorn explained, following Legolas back into the room. “Or if you’re on the grounds a servant will come for you.”

Legolas nodded absently. “Thank you.”

Legolas moved to his pack and withdrew a fresh tunic, slipping it on, fastening it before running a comb quickly through his hair. He decided to leave it down rather than pull it back into braids. Grabbing a belt, he slipped it about his waist and faced Aragorn, who was now standing looking out of one of the windows. 

“I’m glad you are here. I have something for you, and I wanted to give it to you in private.” 

“For me?” Aragorn turned to face him.

“Yes,” Legolas replied. He began searching through his pack, pulling out more tunics in the process. In a bit he found what he sought and turned back to Aragorn, his heart hammering. He tried to sound casual when he offered it. "It is for your birthday."

Aragorn looked from Legolas' face to the package and up again. “You did not have to . . . I did not expect. . . .”

“It would not be a proper gift if it was expected, would it?” Legolas countered. 

Aragorn's fingers brushed against Legolas' hand as he reached for the bundle. The touch sent heat searing through Aragorn's body, and his heart began thudding loudly, but that did not stop him picking up the fleeting feeling that Legolas had enjoyed his touch as well.  
Aragorn untied the tiny string and removed the cloth. Inside was an intricately carved pipe. Upon closer examination he saw that the carvings were his name in several scripts, and there beside those was a miniature version of the White Tree. He looked up to find Legolas anxiously awaiting his reaction. "It is beautiful, almost too beautiful to use. Thank you." 

Legolas smiled. "I commissioned it in Dale. Of course the city is known for its toys, but I thought perhaps someone who was skilled in that art could do such fine work. I was most pleased with the result." He stopped abruptly, realizing he was babbling in a most un-princely fashion. 

"I shall think of you each time I use it," Aragorn replied, his throat tightening both at the beauty of the pipe and the thought that had obviously been behind it. 

Legolas ducked his head, but not before Aragorn saw both relief and pleasure flit across the handsome Elvish features.

“Well, I should let you get settled,” Aragorn said quietly. “And make sure the Hobbits aren’t raiding the larder.”

Legolas’ musical laughter filled the room. “I will see you at dinner, then.”

Aragorn smiled and walked away, closing the door behind him. His smile did not fade as he moved through the corridor, both his steps and his heart lighter than either had been in years.


	5. Among Friends

Dinner that night was pleasant. It was a lively group, so different from those who attended the rather staid functions Aragorn usually had to preside over. These were his dear friends, and for the first time in years Aragorn was actually enjoying himself as conversation and laughter flowed all around him. 

Aragorn studied the others at the table. There were Merry, Pippin, and Sam, happily eating. Gimli carried on a conversation with Faramir, while being nearly as exuberant in his appreciation of the food and drink as the Hobbits. Eowyn spoke quietly to Legolas. 

Aragorn’s eyes came to rest on said Elf just as Legolas took a sip of wine and glanced in his direction. Their gazes met and held for a brief pause before he offered a slight, though warm, smile. Aragorn’s heart faltered then sped to an alarming rate. He managed a small smile of his own and it seemed for a few moments that the others had vanished and the room contained only himself and Legolas. Aragorn had a sudden, brief wish that it was true. 

The spell was broken by Eowyn’s question to Legolas. "Are you still riding Arod?" 

"Yes," Legolas replied, turning away from Aragorn at last, his hand shaking slightly as he reached for his wine goblet. "I should not have ridden him here, but I thought he would enjoy the trip after being cooped up in a stable so long this last winter. We had quite a bit of snow." 

"Perhaps my brother can supply you with a younger horse," Eowyn offered. 

Legolas shook his head. "Perhaps one day, but for the time being I cannot bear to part with him. We have been through so much together, and he is still quite magnificent." 

Eowyn nodded then turned to speak to Merry for a moment. Legolas took that opportunity to steal another glance at Aragorn. Again, the king was speaking in low tones to his steward, so Legolas watched him for a moment, until his gaze was caught and held when Aragorn once more faced him. Legolas felt his face flush slightly under the warm regard and smiled before he turned his attention to Gimli.

“I understand that the gates you and your folk have been installing are quite magnificent. I saw but a part of them riding into the city. Perhaps you could show me more of your work on them?”

“That I will,” Gimli agreed quickly.

“Good,” Legolas smiled, and soon the two of them were making plans to walk about the city the following day after the noon meal.

“By the by,” Legolas added, “my father has extended an open invitation to you and your family, as a way of making amends for past grievances."

"I am happy to accept," Gimli answered. "But I do not think my father will. I don't think he has gotten over his imprisonment there."

Legolas smirked. “I am sure he will find the hospitality much improved from last time.”

“As long as he doesn’t have to sneak out in a wine barrel,” Gimli replied with a laugh of his own.

"You are all invited," Legolas added. He turned to the head of the table. This time his voice was lower, more intimate. “And will you come, Aragorn? Will you accept my own invitation at last?” 

Aragorn glanced from his hands into Legolas’ steady blue gaze. He felt warmth spread through his body again, and his pulse beat a little faster. Slowly he nodded. “I shall,” he decided. “It has been many years since I’ve been to your father’s court, and my last trip was not so pleasant.”

“I remember,” Legolas agreed. “You with a bloodied hand, dragging along that poor creature.”

“Poor creature indeed,” Aragorn replied, lifting his right hand. “It hurts even now at the memory.”

Legolas’ eyes flicked to Aragorn’s hand and the sudden urge to lift it and plant a tender kiss upon the scar there filled him. He looked away hastily, but the feeling remained. 

After dinner they all filed into an adjoining chamber to relax, and it was not long before the Hobbits had offered to sing, their voices lifted up in an old song of Bilbo’s creation. Aragorn hummed softly along with the tune as he moved to stand beside Legolas and draped one arm over the Elf’s shoulders. The movement seemed as natural as breathing, especially so when Legolas turned his head to smile at Aragorn and leaned slightly toward him.

“They do not seem to have changed at all, do they?” he asked Aragorn quietly.

“No, and for that I am glad.”

“As am I. They are such gentle folk.”

After another moment Aragorn dropped his arm to his side. “Gentle folk indeed to have seen so much evil.”

“Would that they never see the like again,” Legolas murmured.

“That is my hope as well,” Aragorn replied. 

Legolas glanced at him and nodded. “It is good that the Shire is under your protection.”

They were quiet for a while, enjoying the songs, the general merriment, and the other’s presence. Neither noticed two pairs of inquisitive eyes watching them.

“Tell me, how is your family since you last wrote?” Aragorn at length wondered.

Legolas hesitated and looked away to the Hobbits for a few moments. When he spoke at last, his voice was quiet. “Lenneth is with child.”

“But that is good news!” Aragorn exclaimed softly.

“Aye, it is,” Legolas answered, relief making him chuckle a little. “Needless to say we are all excited. Bregon is beside himself, doting on her so much I fear sometimes she will put him out of their rooms.”

“One can hardly blame him for feeling protective of his wife.”

Legolas caught the slightly pensive note in Aragorn’s voice. A quick glance confirmed the frown he had expected to see on his friend’s face. He breathed in sharply, wishing he had not brought up the subject at all. He raised a hand to clasp Aragorn’s shoulder, letting it rest there for a moment after. “No, one cannot.”

Silence reigned again as they stood thusly, each unsure of what to else to say. At last, giving himself a mental shake, Aragorn pushed aside his sudden melancholy mood and turned his head toward Legolas to reassure the Elf that the feeling of loss had passed, that all was well. The heat of Legolas’ hand registered in his brain at the same time, and he found that he could say nothing, only gaze at the Elf mutely as feelings of both comfort and excitement washed over him. They each opened their mouths to speak.

But the Hobbits approached to engage them both in reminiscing about their adventures on the Quest, and the moment was lost. They shared one last look, one last touch, before they were drawn into the group again.

000

The following morning found Aragorn strolling in the gardens. He had awakened early to thoughts of Legolas, and how glad he was to see his friend again. As he was happy to see them all, he amended. Today the prince and Gimli would tour the city, and Aragorn found himself envious of the Dwarf for having some time alone with Legolas. Perhaps he would join them, Aragorn decided. 

He stopped when he entered the small grove of trees and reached into a pocket of his cloak, his fingers closing around Legolas' gift. He held the pipe up and ran his fingertips over the delicate workmanship. A rush of emotion filled him at the thought behind it. He had been given many costly gifts since he had become king, but none of them meant so much as this one from his old and dear friend.

He smiled to himself and searched his pockets for pipe weed and flints. His hand brushed parchment instead, and his fingers paused as he instantly recognized it as one of Legolas’ messages from last autumn. He withdrew the letter now and began to reread it. 

A deliberately loud step behind alerted him he was no longer alone. He started guiltily and thrust the letter back into his cloak. He turned, surprised to see Legolas standing there. The Elf offered a tentative smile.

“Forgive me. I did not wish to startle you. You seemed preoccupied.” 

Before Aragorn could respond, Legolas moved toward the small stand of trees. 

"These are the trees I sent you. They have grown well." 

Ever a Wood Elf at heart, Legolas ran gentle fingertips over each plant, murmuring softly. Aragorn smiled, taking pleasure in his friend's mellifluous voice, his graceful way of moving. A shiver moved down Aragorn’s spine as he watched and listened; his memories of Legolas must have dimmed, for his friend seemed even more comely than when they had parted. His entire being glowed and beckoned him, and Aragorn stepped forward before he realized he had done so. He halted and looked away in confusion when Legolas turned to him suddenly.

"They like it here," he smiled. "They are happy."

Legolas' own thoughts were just as clear to Aragorn’s highly tuned senses–he liked it here, as well. He would have to control himself, as he seemed to be picking up Legolas far too easily, and such intrusions into his friend’s mind would not do. 

"I am disturbing you," Legolas' said softly, noting Aragorn’s expression and mistaking it for displeasure.

"No, not at all,” Aragorn hurried to disabuse him of that notion. “I am glad of your company." 

"And I of yours," Legolas smiled back. "It is good to be in Gondor once again. I have missed this place.” Quietly he added, “I have missed you."

Aragorn could not be faulted for the feeling of pleasure that suffused his being at those words. “And I you.”

Their eyes met again and held for a moment. Aragorn tore his gaze away first.

"You look different." 

Aragorn ran a self-conscious hand over his face. "I do? Well, I am older it's true." 

Legolas shook his head and moved closer, still studying him intently. "No, that is not it." 

"What then?" Aragorn asked. His heart began to hammer rapidly at Legolas' nearness; he wondered if the sound was audible to Elven ears. 

Legolas tilted his head to the side. "You look more comfortable in your role, in your life, than when I last saw you. It is an improvement." 

"Is it?" Aragorn whispered. "Well, I . . . I suppose I have grown into it." 

“Yes, perhaps that is it,” Legolas agreed, still studying him. He raised a hand to push a strand of hair behind Aragorn’s ear, but thought better of it and let it fall to his side. “It is true that you are older, but it is not a bad thing. With age and experience come wisdom.”

Aragorn could not think with Legolas so near, his lyrical voice so low, his gaze so intent. His limbs began to tremble. Surely Legolas knew what he was doing to him? But the Elf seemed oblivious to the internal chaos he was causing.

Legolas’ own heart raced as Aragorn’s unique scent filled his nostrils. He grew even more aware of the heat of Aragorn’s body and his own remembered the feel of it pressed close. His gaze slid to Aragorn’s lips. Would they taste the same as they had that night? Did he dare find out?

The sound of approaching footsteps registered in his brain at the same time as the thought, and Legolas drew back and away from Aragorn with a small, strained smile, wondering what possible excuse he could offer for his behavior. 

“Someone approaches,” he said quietly.

Aragorn nodded. What had happened just now? His addled brain could come up with no explanation, so he focused instead on calming his emotions as the footsteps drew closer. At last he was able to calm his breathing, so that, by the time a page appeared to summon them to the morning meal, he appeared unaffected.

At least Aragorn hoped that was the case.


	6. Wagers and Yearnings

Aragorn raised his weapon, steadied his breath as he had been taught long ago, and released his arrow. It flew to his target and struck more than a little outside the bulls-eye mark. He grimaced, embarrassed at how his archery skills had diminished in his years as king. Not that he had ever been as good as Legolas, or even his own foster-brothers, but he had once been a decent archer.

“That was a fine shot,” Legolas encouraged, his hand casually brushing Aragorn’s sleeve as he moved to take his position. 

Several days had passed. The reunion was going splendidly, with everyone enjoying himself as they grew reacquainted with each other and caught up on news of one another’s lives. Still, there were moments when Legolas wished that Aragorn had come to Eryn Lasgalen to visit him so that they might have more time alone together. He would have been both surprised and pleased to learn that Aragorn’s thoughts often followed the same track, for while they did manage to find time to speak together privately, those incidents were too few. Today was one such rare moment; Aragorn had decided that with the upcoming hunt, he should try to spend some time practicing with the bow. Legolas had been more than happy to agree to some time in the lists. 

“Thank you,” Aragorn replied, a soft smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “But you are being too kind. And I have been too remiss in practicing.”

Legolas chuckled as he aimed for his own target further down range. He released his arrow, which hit the center of his own target next to the others. 

“You are still the best archer I have ever seen.” Aragorn praised, resting a hand a moment on Legolas’ shoulder.

“You do well enough,” Legolas disagreed. “Were you an Elf we would be evenly matched on the field, I am certain.”

Aragorn blushed at the compliment, though he hid it by turning away to head down range to retrieve his arrows. Legolas followed his progress with his eyes, a soft smile playing on his lips.

000

Above them in the stands, Gimli watched thoughtfully, his eyes narrowed, though a smile could be seen if one looked closely through his beard. Beside him sat the Hobbits, each also watching Aragorn and Legolas, though only Merry seemed aware of the interplay between them and what it signified. 

“Gimli,” Merry asked, his own expression just as thoughtful as the Dwarf’s, “you spent the most time with them. Do you think they . . . care about each other?”

“Of course they care about each other,” Pippin put in. Beside him Sam nodded vigorously.

“Well, there were times when I wondered, that’s a fact,” Gimli said at last. “Now I’m fairly certain.”

“Certain of what?” Sam wondered, glancing at the Dwarf.

“That they’re in love with each other,” Merry said quietly. 

“But they’re both male,” Sam pointed out the obvious. “How is it possible for them to be in love?”

“Some things just are,” Gimli replied. 

“But . . . . ” Pippin began.

“So why don’t they do something about it?” Merry asked. “Look at them.”

They all did. Aragorn and Legolas were bent toward each other, speaking quietly, smiles on their faces. 

“Perhaps they will, eventually,” Gimli mused aloud. “I’d bet a barrel of ale on it.”

“Two barrels of the best Old Toby,” Merry put in.

“Well I say you’re both cracked,” Sam muttered, rising to his feet. “Isn’t it about time for elevenses?”

Merry and Gimli watched him leave, Pippin following in his wake. After a moment they turned back toward the lists.

“I give them a fortnight before they figure out what’s what on their own,” Gimli decided.

“Not even that. One week,” Merry disagreed.

Laughter floated up from the lists and the two of them shook their heads. 

“They don’t have any idea, do they? We could always lock them up in a room together, ” Merry suggested, “so they stop this . . . whatever it is they’re doing.”

Gimli paused, considering. “On the other hand, I might just have an idea . . . .”

000

That night found Legolas struggling to relieve the tension in both his mind and his body as he gazed out over the gardens from his room, breathing in the night air. He had been here a week now, and it was becoming more and more difficult to hide his desire for Aragorn. Desire. He could finally put a name to the longing. It was unwise, of course, but he was unable to suppress it. It was little things that undid him, things such as the way the sound of Aragorn's voice traveled up and down his spine like a deep caress and the way Aragorn's touches sent little trails of fire traveling throughout his body. 

He had begun to feel as though he were in a waking reverie and it was most unsettling. And it hit him hardest when he was alone with nothing to do but think, and when he felt his loneliness most acutely.

He rose and quickly stripped off his tunic, setting it aside before unsheathing his knives and moving to the center of the room. Head bowed in concentration he drew several deep breaths, then swept the knives out and upward to meet above his head. He brought them down again and sharply to the left and right in fluid stabbing motions. 

He turned to the left, and as he did so he thought of Aragorn smiling. Legolas faltered, the knives suspended at his side. He liked Aragorn's smile; it made his eyes crinkle at the corners and lifted his entire face. 

Legolas closed his own eyes and shook his head. That was no good. He repeated the movements. Again he paused mid-slice as he recalled the feel of Aragorn's hands as they casually touched him. 

No, Legolas shook his head. He must not think of Aragorn's touch. Legolas turned again only to stop once more as the sound of rich, warm, male laughter filled his ears. Aragorn's laughter. The knives nearly slipped from his hands, and he looked around, half expecting to see Aragorn himself. 

Legolas grimaced. This was not helping. He began a new, more complex pattern, stabbing the knives sharply forward before flipping them quickly over in his hands to stab behind. He continued in this way until he was panting with exertion, and finally, his mind was free of visions of Aragorn. He returned then to the slower form. 

He did not at first hear the knock on his door. When it sounded a second time, Legolas frowned slightly, but he called out, "Enter!”

Aragorn walked into the room and froze near the doorway, his breath catching in his throat. Legolas' back was to him, and he moved slowly, almost sensuously, his muscles rippling. Tiny rivulets of moisture glistened on his torso and traveled downward to disappear into the leggings that did little to conceal Legolas' taut buttocks. Aragorn swallowed and closed his eyes. It was some moments before he could find his voice.

“Gimli said you wanted to speak to me?” 

Legolas hesitated as Aragorn's presence filled the room, and all of his earlier thoughts and feelings returned with a vengeance. His hands began to tremble, and Legolas hissed suddenly as a handle twisted, and he felt the sting of a blade as he turned. 

The slight sound caught Aragorn’s attention and his eyes snapped open, his gaze riveting to the thin line of red on Legolas’ arm. With his dagger he cut a strip of fabric from his tunic and moved to Legolas. He quickly examined the cut and breathed a sigh of relief. "It is not deep." 

Legolas felt his face flush with embarrassment. He tried not to react as Aragorn's hands moved over his bare arm. "I can do that," he protested, as Aragorn began wrapping the cut. 

"Nonsense. I do not mind," Aragorn replied, trying not to be distracted by the feel of Legolas' smooth skin as he bandaged the wound. 

"Thank you," Legolas murmured, when Aragorn had finished. He moved slowly to replace the knives in their scabbards, but before he could do so, Aragorn spoke. 

"I have always admired your skill with those. Would you show me this thing you were doing?" 

Legolas smiled. "I would be happy to. But these are much lighter than your sword, and these are not fighting techniques." 

Aragorn set the knives aside and began to undo the fastenings of his tunic. 

“There is no need . . .” Legolas began, but Aragorn already stood bare-chested. His mouth went dry as he was treated to a view of Aragorn’s broad shoulders, thick biceps, and flat abdomen. Sweet Elbereth, he was a sight to behold. Legolas rapidly turned away and managed to speak again. "Do not grip the knives too tightly. This requires finesse more than strength. Now, follow my movements."

He began demonstrating the drill so that Aragorn could follow his motions from behind. 

The twin blades were indeed light, and Aragorn felt as if he were swinging nothing, making his movements awkward. The sight of the muscles playing in Legolas' back did not make it any easier. 

Legolas turned back. "Now, let me see." He watched Aragorn. "That's good, but . . . Here." 

Legolas moved behind Aragorn. The view from the back was just as impressive as the one from the front. Legolas bit his lip. "Here, perhaps this will help."

Help what, Aragorn wondered wildly as he felt Legolas' hands slide down to cover his own. 

"Up," Legolas stepped with Aragorn to demonstrate, "then down." 

The movement brought Legolas' front against Aragorn's back, and for a moment they both stood still, the heat of their bodies blending as sweat-slick skin touched. A shiver passed through Aragorn, and he tilted his head back slightly as Legolas released a ragged breath. He had but to move his own head a little, and his lips would be pressed to the side of Aragorn’s throat. 

“Aragorn,” Legolas whispered, yielding to temptation, but just before his lips made contact, the knives slipped from Aragorn’s nerveless hands and clattered to the floor, breaking the spell that had enveloped them.

"You have the idea," Legolas murmured, wiping moist palms against his leggings. 

Aragorn bent to retrieve the knives, extending the handles toward Legolas. The Elf grasped them with shaky hands and hurried to re-sheath them before pulling on his tunic. Across the room Aragorn slipped his own over his head. They turned and stared at each other. 

"I, um . . . I should go," Aragorn managed. "It's late." 

Legolas nodded, not trusting himself to speak again. He watched as Aragorn walked slowly to the door and opened it. Aragorn turned back, and their gazes connected again. 

" ‘Til the morrow, then," Aragorn breathed. 

And then he was gone, closing the door behind him, leaving Legolas staring at the door, chest heaving, and his mind in even more turmoil. 

000

Alone in his chamber Aragorn leaned heavily against the door, clenching and unclenching his fists. He felt flushed, dazed. Aroused. Raking a shaky hand through his hair, he slowly walked to the wash basin and eyed the icy water for a moment before he leaned forward and dunked his head into the bowl. 

He shivered as the cold hit him, and with a gasp he pulled his face out and shook his head, sending droplets of water flying about himself. He turned away and walked toward the foot of his bed. Stopped. 

"Why did I have to go to his room?" Aragorn growled at the empty room as he turned and moved toward the window. "Why did I have to see him like that?" 

"You've seen him with his shirt off before." Back to the bed.

Back toward the window. "Yes, but that was . . . different." 

Aragorn frowned, ripping his tunic off and throwing himself down on his bed where he had arrived once again. He stared at the ceiling.   
What fiend of Morgoth had possessed him to ask Legolas to show him how to use the knives, Aragorn did not know. He only knew that his reason seemed to have fled the moment he'd entered the room and caught Legolas off guard. 

And Legolas off guard was a sight indeed. Aragorn smiled, picturing him, bare to the waist and panting slightly, sweat glistening in the firelight on rippling muscle. Would Legolas look the same in the throes of passion, moving beneath him? Or perhaps above him. 

No. No, he should not think of Legolas this way. He should not feel these things. Legolas was his friend. His friend. 

Yet you wanted to kiss him again. Touch him again. Hold him. 

"No," Aragorn denied. 

Yes.

"Yes." Aragorn groaned, covering his face with his hands. Yes, he'd wanted those things. He wanted them now. 

But he should not.

Aragorn closed his eyes, but images of Legolas flooded his mind. No, that was not good. He must think of something else. Anything else. He began reciting the names of all the kings of his line, but Legolas’ voice and form invaded and destroyed his concentration. Aragorn began going over battle strategies, but that only made him think of their kiss again, and how good it had felt to hold Legolas for those brief seconds. And how good it had felt a little while ago when Legolas had been pressed against his back. 

Aragorn swore again. It was no use; he could not stop thinking of Legolas. And he could not make these feelings go away. 

Perhaps if he just took care of himself now, before . . . things . . . got out of hand, he would be able to relax around Legolas, see him merely as a friend once more. Aragorn untied the lacings of his breeches and slid them off. He sighed as his fist closed around his cock, the familiar touch sending a shiver through his body. 

Having long denied himself any other form of physical pleasure, Aragorn knew exactly how to stroke, how much pressure with which to grip himself, and he put that knowledge to good use now. His head fell back, his hips arched into the deliberate rhythm. 

Legolas. No, he must not think of Legolas. But it was too late. The fantasy was there, and he could only give himself over to it. 

And suddenly it wasn’t the same at all. It was no longer a mechanical act. Aragorn felt as if he were on fire. Legolas. Pale gold hair shimmered in the sun. Warm blue eyes smiled back at him. And then they became hooded with passion, and it was Legolas' hand slowly working him. 

Aragorn groaned and pumped harder. His body became covered in sweat. His other hand gripped the sheets tightly. Aragorn was panting now, his muscles straining as he raced to completion, and Legolas was whispering to him, urging him onward, and he was so close . . . 

He came with his friend’s name on his lips.

Gradually Aragorn's breathing slowed to normal. His body’s need assuaged, he opened his eyes and groaned with shame. Legolas. How could Aragorn look him in the face after what he had just done and thinking about him while doing it? Aragorn gave serious consideration to canceling the hunt and staying in his room for the next day. 

Of course that could not be done. He must go on as if things were the same as they had always been. On shaky legs Aragorn went to wash himself before falling back into bed to stare at the ceiling, loneliness spearing through him once more.


	7. Oaths

The following morning Legolas awakened with a start, a ragged moan, and the warmth of his release soaking the front of his sleep pants. He shivered as he recalled his dream: Aragorn’s lips and strong hands moving over his body, those same lips closing over his member and suckling him until he was spent. For a moment Legolas lay unmoving, relishing the dream and his climax and wishing . . . . The afterglow quickly faded however, and he began to wonder with some dismay how he would face Aragorn during this overnight hunt. The best that he could hope was that his friend would not notice if he behaved oddly. Legolas groaned and slipped out of bed to cleanse himself before pulling on his clothing and braiding his hair. Grabbing a small pack, he peeked out into the corridor a little guiltily, and finding it empty, hastened downstairs. 

The moon was setting over the far ridge as they walked together to the stables. After this morning’s dream, Legolas was relieved that he would not be alone with Aragorn for this overnight hunting expedition. Gimli, the Hobbits, and Faramir were going as well. They met at the kitchen for a hasty breakfast and gathered some food and drink before hurrying outside. The air was cool, but no breeze stirred. It was a fine day for a hunt.

Aragorn was silent at first as he rode. Seeing Legolas this morning had confirmed one thing–last night's exercise had not had the desired effect. If anything he was even more aware of Legolas than he had been the last several days, and he could not stop glancing toward the Elf to admire the way he sat on his horse, the way the rising sunlight glinted off his hair. After nearly an hour of this, Aragorn grimaced and resolutely focused his gaze elsewhere, only to find himself listening intently to Legolas’ conversation with Gimli and his occasional remarks to Sam about gardening.

It took a bit to get everyone going. First Merry wanted to stop for a second breakfast, then Pippin found mushrooms, and by the time they finally did stop for lunch the only prey they had noticed was one squirrel and an old badger. Aragorn began to wonder if it had been the best idea to undertake such an outing. 

But after lunch things picked up, and Legolas soon spotted the tracks of their quarry. They rode a little further before dismounting again and tethering the horses. They would follow more easily on foot. 

Aragorn felt the nervous excitement he had always associated with the hunt as he followed the tracks. The smells of the trees and the dank earth were things he had missed in the city. Bent at the waist, he moved carefully through the brush. He began to feel like his old self, Strider, the Ranger. He was free, in the wild, Legolas at his side. 

"What do you think?" Legolas asked. He knelt close by Aragorn, studying the set of tracks. 

Aragorn eyed the deep indentations. "It’s heavy, probably a stag. A large one too."

Legolas fingers brushed Aragorn's as he moved to examine the hoof print. Tendrils of heat spiraled up his arm and settled in his middle, making Legolas draw in a sharp breath. "It's still warm," he murmured. He stood and moved quickly ahead a few paces. "We are not far behind." 

Aragorn motioned to the Hobbits and Gimli. "Sam, Pippin, the two of you come with me. We’ll circle around to the left–.”

“I think I ought to go with Sam,” Gimli interrupted. 

“Right, and Pip and I will go with Faramir and circle the other way,” Merry added quickly.

Everyone scattered before Aragorn could contradict them, and he and Legolas were left alone. They eyed each other hesitantly and shrugged before moving a bit apart themselves and settled down to wait. Aragorn looked over at Legolas, a sudden rush of protectiveness sweeping over him, but it wrapped itself around Aragorn’s heart before he could fight it back. He knew that he would do anything within his power to keep Legolas from harm, whatever the cost to himself. 

Legolas glanced at him sharply, as though he had divined that thought, and Aragorn quickly shook his head, as much to rid himself of the notion as it was to divert Legolas’ attention from him in case something else far more intimate came to mind. It must have been enough for Legolas turned his attention back to the horizon after a moment.

Aragorn’s behavior today had Legolas somewhat concerned. He seemed distracted, and the prince could not fathom what might have caused it. Unless of course Aragorn had picked up the thoughts that he had been trying to suppress but which he had been unable to stop. He stole another sideways look at Aragorn, admiring his profile. Legolas had not exaggerated when he had told Aragorn that the mantle of kingship seemed to agree with him; what he had not told him was how comely to his eyes Aragorn had become.

He was shaken from that trail of thought when from across the way a startled shout rang through the air, and out of the clearing a magnificent stag bounded toward them. Legolas sent an arrow flying before Aragorn could move, but the frightened animal made one last, desperate leap. With a shout, Aragorn shoved Legolas to the ground, cradling his friend's head in his shoulder as the air rushed past them. The rear hooves hit the ground on the other side, the animal gave one more stagger step, then dropped to its side and died. 

Aragorn raised his head. Barely a foot from them the stag lay unmoving. Fear and anger welled up inside him as he turned his head to gaze down at Legolas. Aragorn wanted to shake him for foolishly standing in the way of the stag until the last moment. Following rapidly on that was a need to dip his head and sup from the lips that were now parted in surprise. Gods, how he wanted that. 

Legolas' heart began pounding rapidly. His body tightened, and he swallowed back the moan that welled up in his throat. Aragorn's body was hard muscled and heavier than his own. He hardly felt his quiver of arrows digging into his back. There was only Aragorn. His eyes flew to Aragorn’s mouth, but this time he did not hesitate. He twined his fingers in Aragorn’s hair and drew the startled man’s head down to his. 

The touch of Legolas’ lips moving against his sent Aragorn’s resolve crashing about him. They felt and tasted just as he remembered, and Valar help him he wanted more. Legolas was more than obliging. He pleasured Aragorn’s lips with a finesse borne of centuries of carnal knowledge and a hunger borne of long-leashed desire. His tongue darted out to tease the seam of Aragorn’s mouth, and when entry was granted they both shuddered with need as agile muscles danced together.

The snap of a twig reminded Legolas abruptly that they were not alone. He pushed Aragorn back, shaking his head at the man’s look of confusion, swallowing thickly before speaking.

“The others are returning.”

Aragorn jumped as Pippin and Merry tore through the undergrowth with Faramir just a pace behind them. He stood, unable to look Legolas in the face as he offered his hand. 

"Did you see him? Did you get him?" Pippin asked excitedly. 

"Yes, Pippin," Aragorn replied shakily, "we got him." 

Legolas quickly moved to pull his arrow from the animal. He did not look at Aragorn as he wiped the missile clean and returned it to his quiver. It was some time, in fact, before he could look at anyone.

000

Some hours later the group sat around a small fire, the last of the stag spitted over it. Their stomachs full, Gimli and the Hobbits began trading stories. It reminded Aragorn somewhat of the Quest, with the obvious lack of the ever-present danger that had dogged their steps then. 

Aragorn glanced over at Legolas, thinking he should apologize for behaving so irrationally earlier, but he could not bring himself to do so, for they would both be reminded of what had happened afterward, and he was doing his best not to think on their most recent kiss. It was a battle lost before it had begun. 

Legolas chose that moment to look over at him, the slight worrying of his bottom lip telling Aragorn that he was just as flustered by their earlier encounter. Aragorn relaxed and turned his attention back to the others in time to hear Merry and Pippin tell the story of how they had become blood brothers. 

"And then the Thain got his knife and cut our palms and bound them together. Then we promised to always stand together," Pippin went on. 

"And we've been close as brothers ever since," Merry added. 

Sam glanced over at Aragorn. "Why don't you and Legolas become blood brothers? You're that close already." 

Aragorn considered Sam's suggestion. He was close to Legolas. Closer than he had ever been to anyone save for Arwen. His feelings for him were complicated. He admired and respected him. Beyond that was this attraction that seemed to build daily. Where it might lead he did not know, and he was frightened to think of what might happen if he acted upon it. He had so many responsibilities to his people. But a rite of blood brotherhood to signify this closeness between them seemed a very good thing to undergo. Perhaps a renewed sense of camaraderie would quell his other feelings. 

"I think that it’s a fine idea." Aragorn turned to Legolas. "You and I have been friends for many years." 

"Yes," Legolas replied, "many." 

"I would be honored if we became blood brothers." 

"Are you certain?" 

"Yes, unless you don't want to."

There was no question of Legolas refusing. He liked the idea immensely. "Nay, I would be honored as well." 

Aragorn flashed a smile. "Good." He stood and turned to Faramir, pulling his dagger from his belt. "Would you?" 

"Yes, of course, my liege." Faramir rose and took the dagger, holding the blade into the fire. He motioned them forward so that they stood in the light, visible to everyone. "You have offered to bind yourselves as blood brothers. Are you both willing?" 

Aragorn and Legolas nodded once. 

"Then speak your oaths to one another and let the Valar and all of these folk present bear witness," Faramir solemnly urged them.

Aragorn nodded and began speaking first. "Legolas, you have been a true friend. You have stood at my side through all of my trials and all of my victories, through my highest moments, and through my darkest. I promise to do the same for you, as long as I live. I, Elessar, King of Gondor, swear this." 

"Aragorn, you are my friend, and it has been my privilege to follow you. I will stand at your side as long as you have need of me. I, Legolas Thranduilion, swear this, in the name of Eru the One." 

Quickly Faramir slit their palms and bade them clasp hands. "Then let this shedding of blood for one another seal your pact." 

The warmth that pulsed suddenly through Aragorn’s veins was as unexpected as it was pleasant. It was almost as if a part of Legolas had begun flowing into him. He glanced down at their joined hands before he raised shocked eyes to Legolas' face. It was clear then that whatever he felt was also being experienced by his friend. 

A shiver ran through Legolas' body as their hands touched, and he suppressed a gasp of surprise at the feeling of union as he felt the tentative brush of Aragorn’s spirit against his own. It was not unlike what he knew took place during a bonding ritual, but it was impossible, of course, so he dismissed the notion without another thought. In a moment the sensation of their souls acknowledging one another passed, and Legolas raised his eyes to Aragorn’s face and returned his friend’s smile.

It was done. They were blood brothers.


	8. Walls Come Down

Aragorn peered at his reflection as he inspected himself one final time before heading downstairs for the banquet. His face was lined. And when had those new gray hairs appeared? He leaned in more closely. He looked old. Well, he was, though yet in his prime for one of his descent. But he looked so old compared to Legolas. What would Legolas see in him? Aragorn snorted and turned away in disgust. What indeed? The attraction he felt for Legolas would never be returned.

Only, sometimes, when their gazes met, Aragorn was certain he saw something like his own longing reflected in Legolas’ eyes. But he was surely imagining things, picking up on thoughts and feelings that he himself wished to pick up on.

Aragorn grimaced in exasperation and tried to rein in his wayward mind. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking or feeling such things. Moving to his balcony, he let the air cool his face, drawing several deep breaths in a vain hope that it might also soothe his inner turmoil. 

000

Legolas listened to Gimli with one ear while the other listened for the familiar sound of Aragorn's footsteps. At last he heard them and began to tremble slightly, then frowned to himself. This would not do. He had vowed to work harder to control his reactions to Aragorn, but even the sound of his footsteps made Legolas’ heart pound painfully in his chest. And when Aragorn finally appeared, Legolas was completely unprepared for the onslaught to his senses. A dark red tunic clung to powerful shoulders, a belt emphasized his trim waist, and snug fitting black trousers hid long legs. Legolas swallowed hard and contemplated another very long night spent working out with his knives.

"Our laddie looks well this evening," Gimli spoke, attempting to nudge Legolas in the ribs. 

"He looks quite handsome," Eowyn said softly. "Don't you agree, Legolas?" 

He glanced at her, frowning, but she offered him a quick smile before moving to stand next to Faramir. Legolas turned his gaze back to Aragorn. Handsome was not quite the word he would use. Magnificent. Aragorn was magnificent. 

At the foot of the stairs Aragorn paused. Everyone was gathered in a small group, but it was to Legolas his eyes flew. The Prince stood regal and tall above the others. His hair was only loosely braided this evening, and he wore a silver tunic, richly embroidered with vines and leaves. To simply call him fair was inadequate. Aragorn's pulse began to race as their gazes met and held. It took a supreme effort of will to look away, but he finally moved forward to speak with Sam and Merry. 

A servant approached and Aragorn nodded. "I think that is our cue," he grinned at the Hobbits. 

As Legolas turned, Aragorn couldn't stop from sliding admiring eyes down Legolas' slim frame, his gaze settling on the swell of buttocks. Aragorn's mouth tightened as he realized what he was doing, and he dragged his eyes away. Much more of that and he would be riding to the river for a long swim later tonight, regardless of the risk. 

Once they were seated at the long table, servants began bringing out platters heaped with food. The Hobbits clapped in anticipation and Gimli voiced his approval as dishes of boar, venison, bread, cheeses, and a huge tureen of stew were placed on the table and servants began filling plates. 

When they had all eaten their fill Aragorn rose and lifted his glass. "They say that friendships forged in adversity are the strongest of all. And so it has been for our Fellowship." Aragorn looked from one to the next, his eyes resting on Legolas a heartbeat longer than the others. "I consider myself fortunate to know all of you. I would not be king if not for your courage and your steadfastness. And so I raise my glass to you."   
"Yet others must be toasted, for no accounting of our Fellowship is complete without them, though they have passed on." Aragorn paused. "To Frodo." 

"To Frodo." Everyone stood and raised their glasses. 

"To Gandalf." 

Again, everyone toasted. 

"And to Boromir." 

Everyone raised his glass a final time. 

When the toasts were complete, Aragorn signaled a servant with a nod. Other servants appeared and began clearing away the many dishes before rolling out barrels. They began passing around mugs of ale. 

It was not long before the evening went from somber to boisterous as pint after pint was consumed. Soon the Hobbits were arm in arm singing a drinking song. Gimli got up to join in, and it was not long before the four of them were dancing in the center of the room. Legolas sat tapping his foot in time to the song. Aragorn was determined to keep his distance, yet his eyes strayed every few moments back to him.

With a silent oath, Aragorn tore his gaze away once more only to meet Gimli’s knowing smirk. Aragorn stood frozen, the realization that someone else had seen his longing making him feel slightly panicked. If Gimli could see, could others? And did Legolas know? Aragorn glanced toward him, but Legolas was watching another dance.

Frowning, Aragorn drained his mug and went for another. Would avoiding Legolas draw more attention? Were others in the castle talking of it, of the king making a fool of himself over the Elf? Not that he would do anything about his feelings. Certainly not now. Aragorn shook his head and re-filled his mug. 

*Don't look at him. Stay away from him. Don't go near him.* 

Aragorn's feet disobeyed. 

Legolas grinned at Aragorn and motioned to an empty chair. Aragorn offered him a wobbly smile and sank into it. They watched the Dwarf and Hobbits for a moment in companionable silence before Aragorn drew out his pipe and a flint, stretching his legs before him. 

"Quite a company of entertainers," Legolas remarked, smiling. He tried not to notice Aragorn's strong profile. 

"Indeed." Aragorn took another long drink from his mug and did his best to ignore the curve of Legolas' mouth. 

Gimli came bearing down on them, a grin on his face. "Come, you two, it's your turn to give us a song." 

Legolas could think of nothing. Beside him, Aragorn's voice rose: 

"Oh, watch where you shoot your arrow." 

Legolas looked at Aragorn in surprise. "I know that one. It is what Galion sings when he has been drinking too much." He joined in:

"you'll miss if the target's too narrow.

But once you're in the quiver  
she'll make you want to shiver." 

Legolas and Aragorn linked arms and soon the two were swaying drunkenly, eyebrows wiggling suggestively as they leaned their heads close together. The Hobbits and Gimli roared with laughter as the two of them finished the song. Then Aragorn and Legolas unlinked arms slowly and bowed to their audience. 

A frisson of heady excitement shivered through Legolas, and he nervously lifted his mug to his lips. 

Several gulps of ale later, Aragorn managed to calm the tremors that shook his body. 

They turned and gazed at each other, each offered a weak smile, then they both returned to watching the others dance. 

000

It was past midnight and the feast had long been over. The Hobbits and Gimli had already stumbled off to their rooms, leaving Legolas and Aragorn alone together at the table in companionable silence. Finally Legolas stood and gave Aragorn an exaggerated bow. 

"Come along, Your Majesty." 

Though his voice was slurred Aragorn assumed his most commanding tone as he clutched at Legolas for support. "You shouldn't mock the King." 

Legolas snorted. "No, indeed."

The two of them staggered upstairs arm in arm, Aragorn singing another bawdy song, and while elves never giggle, once or twice Legolas caught himself snickering at the words. At last they reached the door to Aragorn's room, and after a bit of interesting maneuvers he managed to get Aragorn inside and over to the bed. Finally, and not too gracefully, Aragorn was sitting down with his feet over its side. 

Legolas started to bend to remove Aragorn’s boots when he heard a soft sigh and looked up to see that Aragorn had fallen back onto the bed. He fought back a chuckle at the sight. “Aragorn?”

"Hmm?" came the soft reply. 

"Can you move? You'll not be very comfortable sleeping like this." 

Aragorn wriggled about until he was lengthwise, more or less, on the bed. Legolas helped by shoving as best he could, his usual strength sapped by the alcohol he had consumed. Legolas frowned in sudden indecision. Perhaps he should remove Aragorn's tunic. He leaned forward to undo the clasp of the shirt and then began working the knot of the belt loose. At last it came undone, and Legolas paused again. He could leave it, but if Aragorn rolled over onto the ornate buckle it could be painful. He thought for a moment before an idea struck his inebriated mind. 

He braced a leg against the bed frame, grasped the wide strip of leather with both hands and tugged. It came free. Too late Legolas realized the pull had also sent Aragorn rolling toward him, and he stood, frozen, watching, as Aragorn tried in vain to seize the bed clothes to stop himself from falling. It was too little too late and Aragorn hit Legolas squarely in the middle, knocking them both down into the floor. 

"Oof!" 

They erupted in laughter. Legolas clutched at Aragorn and laughed until tears of mirth poured from his eyes. Aragorn pounded the rug, his body heaving with the hilarity of the situation. 

"Are you all right?" Aragorn gasped. 

"Yes," Legolas snickered. He burst out laughing again. “You should have seen your face,” Legolas gasped. 

As quickly as it had come the laughter faded to smiles. Smiles slid away to earnest gazes. Aragorn swallowed and stared down into the face that haunted his dreams.

Legolas' breath caught, and he held very still. 

Aragorn brushed a hand over a cheekbone, giving in to what he had been longing to do for days. "Legolas."

"Aragorn, what is it?"

“I need . . .” 

Aragorn bent close, hesitated. Legolas raised his head, covering the remaining distance. Their lips brushed. Once. Twice. 

Aragorn closed his eyes as he drew back. Gentle fingertips caressed his face, giving him courage to voice a reply to Legolas’ question. “I need you.”

“I’m here.”

Their lips met again, this time to move together, slowly caressing. Aragorn tentatively darted his tongue against Legolas' lips, then retreated. Legolas parted his lips and countered. Aragorn's body shook as he advanced again, and Legolas invited entry. Aragorn sighed in contentment as he explored and tasted. And oh, how good he tasted–like spices, honey, ale, and beneath it all, Legolas himself. 

Aragorn's lips moved to explore Legolas' jaw line. "Please."

"I'm not going anywhere," Legolas groaned, shivering at the sound of the husky voice so close to his ear. He drew Aragorn's mouth back to his own. "I won't leave you." 

Aragorn's mouth slipped aside, moved down to Legolas' chin, his throat, whatever exposed skin he could find. Aragorn's voice shook as he repeated, "I need you." 

Legolas' heart beat even faster. "I don't know what to do," he admitted. "I've never been with a man." 

"Neither have I. But I think . . . we'll manage," Aragorn offered, between kisses. 

At the moment he did not care what they did; he was simply enjoying being held, touched. It had been so long since he'd held another, and all he wanted to do was explore. He rolled to his back, taking Legolas with him. Aragorn's hands wandered over strong shoulders and back, moved downward, halting just above the swell of buttocks. Aragorn paused, swallowed, then slowly ran a trembling palm over a taut muscle. He felt Legolas tense slightly, then relax. 

Legolas sighed. "That felt nice." 

Aragorn groaned and repeated the caress. "I want to see you . . . without clothes." 

Legolas sat back on his heels and began working his own belt free. Then he cast it aside and began unhooking his tunic. That garment followed his belt to the floor, and he stared down, waiting. Aragorn's hands came up to caress Legolas' shoulders, his biceps, his chest. 

"Aragorn." The usually precisely uttered syllables were softer now, halfway between a whimper and a moan. 

"Your skin . . . Your skin feels so good." 

"Now you," Legolas breathed. "I want to touch you." 

Aragorn began struggling to pull his own tunic off, and with Legolas' help the garment finally came free. Legolas stared down at Aragorn, his hands reaching out to tentatively stroke the fur-covered chest. So alike. So different. Legolas grew bolder, mapping further, and when that curiosity had been satisfied, he moved over Aragorn until their chests touched. Eyes widened with discovery at the feel of skin against skin, muscle against muscle. 

"Oh," Legolas whispered in awe. "So much strength. I never knew."

Aragorn moved, rolling them over so that he was braced above Legolas once more. "I want to lick the sweat from your body," he whispered. 

Legolas gasped at the image of Aragorn's tongue sliding over himself, but that was nothing to the reality. He gasped and arched toward the coolness of tongue against his own hot skin. "Valar, that . . . Aragorn . . ." 

After one final stroke of his tongue across Legolas' chest, Aragorn moved back up for another kiss. Legolas hesitantly stroked Aragorn's buttocks, drawing him closer in. Aragorn groaned as his arousal came into contact with Legolas' own. That felt good. Aragorn moved his hips. Very good. He stopped suddenly and rolled to the side, panting, eyes closed. 

Legolas tried not to groan in frustration as he felt Aragorn move away. Instead he reached out a hand to caress the warm lips, the strong jaw line. 

“Aragorn? Please don’t stop. I need you too.”

Aragorn’s eyes snapped open at the soft plea. “I know.”

Their mouths fused again, tongues dueled wildly, hands moved over waists, hips, buttocks. Legolas' hands moved to the front of Aragorn's leggings, hesitantly caressed the bulge there. 

“Let me?” he whispered. 

Legolas gasped as Aragorn's warm hand covered him through his own trousers. 

Clumsy fingers began tugging at the ties of Legolas’ breeches. "What is this tied with, hithlain?" Aragorn mumbled.

Legolas chuckled. "No. Here." He worked the laces free. A heartbeat later Legolas felt Aragorn's fist curl around his own shaft. Legolas arched into the warm roughness of Aragorn's hand with a moan of bliss. It had been so long. "Yes . . ."

For a moment Legolas gave himself up to his lover’s firm strokes, thrusting slowly into the strong hand, but his need to pleasure Aragorn was intense. “Wait,” he panted. He tugged frantically at the ties to Aragorn’s leggings and was rewarded at last as the heavy sex filled his hand. How good it felt. His moan echoed Aragorn’s as he let his hand slide downward, then up again. 

Pleasure shot through Aragorn as Legolas began pumping with long, firm strokes. He bucked toward the hand, desperate for more of the feeling. He shuddered as Legolas stilled, gliding a thumb over the tip of Aragorn’s cock before moving again. Aragorn’s head fell back, his eyes closed. Yes, oh, yes, that was it. ". . . Legolas . . . so good . . . Don’t stop . . ." 

Deep moans filled Aragorn’s ears. He opened his eyes to the sight of Legolas’ flushed face, mouth contorted with pleasure. It was enough to send Aragorn closer to the precipice. 

A bow-callused hand reached for Aragorn's free one; fingers twined together. Legolas' mouth covered his again. Aragorn's body tensed, jerked. He erupted over Legolas' hand, onto the floor between them. A heartbeat later Legolas followed him over the edge. 

They lay still, panting, until slowly their hearts stopped racing. After a moment Legolas opened his eyes and gazed at Aragorn. The Elf wondered if his own face held the same look of amazed contentment he saw in Aragorn's eyes. Their lips met again, this time in a tender caress. 

Legolas started to move. He should clean them up, get Aragorn back onto the bed. 

"Stay." 

Legolas hesitated, nodded once, then settled in close. He did not really want to move anyway. Aragorn smiled. Moments later they slept.


	9. Shattered

Aragorn groaned as something hit his middle. Stirred from sleep, he sought to open his eyes, but they refused to cooperate. After a few more tries he managed to pry them to narrow slits, only to wish he had not succeeded and they had remained firmly shut. The sunlight streaming in through his windows was far too bright. With another groan he slammed his eyelids shut and groped for a pillow to block the light, but there were none to be found. 

The movement caused a thought to penetrate his befuddled mind--his bed seemed hard this morning. It was almost as if he had fallen asleep on the floor. He risked opening an eye again and found himself looking directly at a charred log in the fireplace. A frown creased his forehead, which he immediately regretted doing as it caused the pounding in his head to increase. 

What was he doing on the floor? He tried to recall last night’s events through the haze of pain. There was the dinner of course. And afterward there had been songs and dances and ale. Barrels of it. He had stayed late with Gimli and the Hobbits. And Legolas. They had all drank large amounts, including himself.

So he had been drunk. That explained the headache and the fact that his mouth tasted so vile this morning. Maybe he had been too tired and intoxicated to make it onto the bed. But then if he had been, he would have kept his clothes on, so he could not imagine why he had bothered to remove his tunic. And he had no idea why his leggings were undone and askew. 

A memory flashed through his mind: hungry kisses and fevered caresses, long, pale hair, and trim body. He dismissed it immediately as a dream. After all, it had been many decades since he had bedded anyone. He was not likely to have done so last night.

Only, in spite of the pain in his head and the dryness of his mouth, and the fact that he had obviously spent the night on the floor, Aragorn felt better than he had in years. He felt warm, sated. Complete. It made no sense at all. 

His frown increased as he gradually became aware of soft breathing that was not his own. He was not alone. It had not been a dream. And there had been only one other person in his bedchamber last night that he could remember--the one who had helped him to his room. Aragorn rolled over, afraid to confirm what his mind was trying to tell him. 

Legolas had awakened with a soft sigh of contentment. He became immediately aware of Aragorn, and he smiled as memories of last night filled his mind. It had been a surprise to find that his own desire was returned, and in such measure. Would this change their relationship? Would they become lovers? He had never taken a male lover, had never considered it, but there was a feeling of rightness in what he felt when he was with Aragorn, and in what they had done. 

Legolas’ thoughts about the matter came to an abrupt halt when Aragorn shifted and turned in his arms. “Good morning,” he whispered. 

Aragorn swallowed hard as warm lips pressed against his own, caressing them tenderly before sliding away to begin exploring further down. He gasped when Legolas’ teeth nipped gently at the juncture of shoulder and throat and moaned with need at the stroke of a tongue over the same spot. His hands tugged at Legolas’ hair as his mouth slowly worked its way back upward. 

Legolas claimed his mouth again while at the same time he reached down to grasp Aragorn’s burgeoning arousal. Firm strokes brought him to full hardness, and Aragorn, helplessly caught up in the moment, thrust eagerly into Legolas’ fist. Oh Valar, this felt good. So very good. But Aragorn’s brain rebelled. It wasn’t supposed to be. It was one thing to feel desire for his friend, quite another to act on it with the friend in question. 

“Stop.” Aragorn barely recognized the passion-glazed voice as his own. “Legolas, stop.”

Aragorn wrenched himself away and up onto his feet, his cock jutting out in defiance of his calling a halt to the proceedings. He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to control his breathing, his need. He opened them slowly to find that Legolas had gotten to his feet as well and was looking at him, with what emotion Aragorn could not tell.

“What’s wrong?” Legolas asked shakily.

Aragorn pulled his leggings back into place and tied them with trembling, uncooperative hands. 

“Aragorn?” 

“This. Us. This,” Aragorn waved a hand back and forth between them. “It’s wrong.” 

Legolas paled. His heart began to pound even more furiously than it had mere moments ago, and his mouth went dry. “Why is it wrong? Have you never known of two warriors giving one another comfort before battle?

“That’s different.”

He expected Legolas to deny it, but the Elf did not. 

“Yes, this is different. It was more than mere comfort that brought us together last night,” Legolas said quietly. 

“Whatever it was, it won’t happen again. I’m the king here; I can’t take a male lover,” Aragorn snapped, stumbling over the words. “If anyone found out . . . I have a reputation to uphold.”

Legolas’ face darkened. He began to gather the remainder of his clothing and pulled it on, his motions jerky. “And I do not?” 

“My subjects–.”

“Are just that,” Legolas reminded him. “Subjects. I’m not asking to become your consort, so this does not concern them in the least. This is about you and me, how we feel.”

“And what is it I’m supposed to feel, other than remorse?” Aragorn growled. “Last night was a mistake; it should not have happened.”

“You cannot mean that.”

“Yes, I do. I can’t do this.” Aragorn swept a hand between them again. “I didn’t want this.” 

“You seemed to have no trouble last night,” Legolas retorted, angry now. He moved forward until he was nearly toe to toe with Aragorn. “And may I remind you that it was you who kissed me, not the other way around.”

“I was drunk. I would never have wanted you otherwise.” 

Legolas’ anger fled and he grew even paler than he had moments ago. “You’re lying.”

“I don’t want you,” Aragorn repeated. 

Legolas flinched, Aragorn’s rejection striking him hard, wounding him. Once again he was not wanted. He stared at Aragorn with wide, pain-filled eyes before turning away and heading toward the door.

“Legolas, wait, that’s not what I meant.”

The Elf hesitated, but Aragorn said nothing else. Legolas pushed his hurt away, gathering his pride about him like a shield. “I will leave after breakfast with the others.”

Aragorn opened his mouth to respond and moved forward, but the door was already clicking shut in his face. 

000

“Merry, would you pass the bacon, please?" Pippin asked.

"You've had ten pieces already," Merry retorted, snagging another (his twelfth). 

Pippin took the platter, adding several more pieces to his plate. He was about to ask for more bread when a stony-faced Legolas entered the dining hall and sat down beside him. The Hobbit offered him the plate.

"Thank you, no," Legolas muttered. 

"It's quite good. Are you sure?" Pippin held the platter closer to Legolas. He could not understand how anyone could refuse food. The Hobbit glanced at the Elf when Legolas still declined. "You don't look well. Are you all right?" 

"I'm fine, thank you, Pippin," Legolas replied, forcing a smile and accepting a piece of bacon, much to Pippin's approval. 

"Strider, good morning," Pippin called, smiling broadly at the King. 

Aragon nodded solemnly, his eyes lighting briefly on Legolas before seating himself and turning his attention to Sam. Pippin felt the Elf shift slightly. 

"Thank you, Pippin, I will have more bacon," Legolas said brightly, adding another piece to his plate, thumping it down so hard that it crumbled. 

"Not to worry," Pippin offered. "Take your bread and sprinkle it on, see." He crumbled a piece of his own, adding it to his own bread to demonstrate. He began devouring it with gusto. 

Sam spoke up. "Here, Pip, pass the bacon down." 

Pippin handed the platter to Sam, who offered it to Aragorn. 

"I am not hungry, Sam, thank you," Aragorn declined, passing it back.

"Are you sure?" Pippin began.

"Aragorn says he doesn't want the bacon," Legolas said, sending an angry look across the table. 

Aragorn glared back. "That's not what I said. I said I am not hungry." 

Pippin's hand stopped halfway on its course to the jam. He looked from Aragorn to Legolas and back. 

"Then maybe you should say what you mean the first time," Legolas offered icily. 

"Maybe you should listen more closely." 

Pippin stopped chewing and glanced at Legolas, noting the flush creeping up his friend’s neck. 

"I heard exactly what you said," Legolas bit back. 

Pippin took a long drink of his mead and tried to puzzle out why Aragorn and Legolas were fighting about food. 

"Did you?" Aragorn said softly. "Well if you were listening then you heard that I do want the bacon . . ." 

"Then here, by all means, take it." 

Legolas shoved the platter across the table toward Aragorn before grabbing a loaf of bread and deftly carving several pieces, eyeing Aragorn the whole time, a dangerous smile on his face. He twirled the small knife absently before sinking it into the bread. There was a tiny “thud” as it hit the board beneath. 

Aragorn flinched. Next to Pippin, Gimli quietly eased his own chair back away from the table and muttered something about clearing the area. 

"Aren't you going to offer me a piece?" Aragorn asked, a tight smile on his face. 

Pippin glanced at Merry, who was watching the two with a frown on his face. Well, at least he wasn't the only one who didn't understand what was going on, then. 

"It may not be to your liking either,” Legolas retorted, his voice low. 

Aragorn's hands gripped the table edge. "I would like a piece of bread." 

"Excuse me." 

Pippin looked up to see Legolas stand, turn on his heel, and walk out of the room. The Hobbit watched him in confusion before realizing, too late, he'd forgotten to ask if he could have the Elf's untouched food. He was about to reach for it anyway when he caught Aragorn staring after Legolas with narrowed eyes. A few seconds later Aragorn left the table as well. 

Pippin, now pleasantly full, pushed back his own plate. All of this drama was making his head hurt and there was only one cure for that: Longbottom Leaf. He decided to smoke outdoors; it was a fine morning, and the fresh air would help clear his head. He strolled outside and found a nice, quiet spot in which to enjoy it. 

He had just lit his pipe when he heard angry voices speaking in Elvish. He glanced about and saw Aragorn and Legolas walking toward him. The Elf carried a pack and his weapons and walked ahead; Aragorn followed.

“You don’t have to leave,” Aragorn said again.

“I think it would be best, don’t you?” Legolas finally responded. “I would not want my presence here to be an embarrassment.”

“That wasn’t what I meant.”

“It’s what you said.” Legolas stopped and turned to face him so abruptly that Aragorn nearly walked into him. “Do you or do you not regret what happened between us?”

Aragorn’s mouth worked open and shut. “Don’t you?”

“No. I don’t. It was a beautiful experience, one I would have gladly repeated. I thought you felt the same. Obviously I was mistaken.” 

Legolas turned and continued on his way, Aragorn on his heels. Curious, Pippin followed. He could just hear Merry now, berating him for being nosy yet again, but after the odd conversation between Aragorn and Legolas at breakfast, he couldn't help himself. Anyway, it wouldn't be the first time, and they would never notice him the way they were shouting at one another. He ran after the pair as fast as his legs could carry him. 

They had reached the stables. Legolas was drawing his horse from its stall.

“Don’t go.”

Legolas stopped his motions and rested his forehead against Arod’s flank. “Give me a reason to stay.”

Because I don’t want you to leave. Aloud Aragorn responded, “Because we’re friends. We can pretend that none of this happened.” 

“Perhaps you can.” He turned to face the man. “There is something between us, Aragorn. You know this as well as I do. Whatever else you may think, last night was inevitable. And I cannot forget it as easily as you seem so willing to do.”

Aragorn gestured back toward the citadel. “What about the others? Even if you care nothing at all for my feelings in this, you should at least say good-bye to them.”

“Your feelings in this? You have just said you have none.” Legolas shot back. “As for our friends, I am sure you will find some excuse.”

“And what will I tell them? That you were too craven to–?”

That was the last that the Elf could stand. Aragorn’s words of shame and regret and his own feelings of betrayal and hurt rose up within him along with the urge to inflict some pain of his own. Without thinking, Legolas formed a fist and hit Aragorn. Hard.   
“There is more than one coward in this city,” he bit out. 

The Hobbit clapped a hand over his mouth and watched, bemused, as Legolas hurriedly led his horse from the stable and vaulted onto its back. Pippin ducked as horse and Elf galloped past him. The Elf's face was red with anger, but his eyes were suspiciously bright. Pippin heard a groan from the stables and saw Aragorn rise to his feet and test his jaw. Pippin quickly hid behind a post as the King went by, his face dark and closed. 

Pippin turned and ran back toward the house. Merry would never believe this.

000

Aragorn strode back up to the Citadel, his jaw aching, his expression fierce. What, in the name of Mandos, had Legolas been thinking? One drunken encounter did not make a love affair, and for Legolas to think that it had . . . Aragorn did not know. He only knew that at the moment he was very glad that Legolas had chosen to leave. 

His footsteps faltered, then ceased altogether, and he turned to look out over the plain. There was no sign of Legolas anywhere. A pang of regret sliced through Aragorn as he stared at the grasses waving in the morning breeze. He should not have been so harsh. But how else should he have reacted? What was he supposed to say? 

He had not wanted what happened.

*Liar.*

He had not enjoyed it.

*Keep telling yourself that.* 

The scowl on his face deepened and he tore his gaze from the fields. He had not wanted it. He had not. It was a refrain he repeated with each step back to his keep.

000

The sun was high and the air was still when Legolas drew his horse to a halt and turned to stare in the direction of Minas Tirith. Even his keen eyes could not pick out its gleaming spires in the distance. He was glad. Seeing Aragorn’s city would have reminded him even more of the man, and he could not stop thinking of him as it was. 

A torrent of emotions raged in his breast–anger, bitterness, sadness. Hurt. He could not understand Aragorn’s reactions to what had happened between them. They had done nothing harmful or shameful. Surely Aragorn could see that? His heart throbbed suddenly with pain, quickly passing, but it gave him pause. 

He had been hurt before, when Maereth had betrayed him, but now he realized it had not felt like this. It had been more his pride that had been wounded than his heart. This time he knew soul deep pain, and knew that he would not get over Aragorn’s rejection for a very long time. Why that was so, he could not understand. 

At last he turned Arod once again in the direction of Eryn Lasgalen. “Come, old friend,” he whispered. “Let us fly to where we are wanted.” 

Arod snorted and surged into motion, while Legolas sought to keep his mind determinedly focused on the path home.

But with every league, his heart shattered a little more.


	10. Unforgettable

The clash of steel against steel rang out in the early morning air, disturbing what was an otherwise quiet day. A group of combatants warily circled a lone swordsman, now advancing upon him, now retreating. Each attack faltered as the lone man wielded his mighty sword with arms that never seemed to tire.

"How long do you think he'll keep this up?" Merry wondered.

Gimli frowned as Aragorn fended off another attacker. "Until he's worn down all of his soldiers, from the looks of things. Or until he remembers he has guests to entertain."

They watched in silence a few more minutes. Aragorn had suddenly decided his men needed more sword training. That this new regimen coincided with Legolas' departure, no one mentioned, lest he earn a sharp rebuke, such was Aragorn's mood these last few days.

"Well, by the looks of things it won't be much longer," Pippin declared. "Everyone seems to be getting tired. Except Aragorn, that is."

Merry sighed. "I was so looking forward to winning that bet. I do enjoy Rohirric ale."

"Don't worry, Merry. I'll be certain to have Eomer send you a barrel or two."

They glanced up to find Eowyn standing, her eyes on the warriors below. Faramir had not been spared the sword practice and was on the field now, one of the attackers against the king. She flinched and clapped a hand over her mouth as Aragorn made an uncomfortably close strike toward Faramir's throat. Faramir sidestepped and ducked just in time. Eowyn breathed a sigh of relief and sat down beside Merry.

"I still can't believe Legolas hit Aragorn and then left," Sam put in. "Those two have always been so close and all. And to think, Gimli and Merry think they're in love."

"Love does funny things to people, Sam," Eowyn replied. "Sometimes we hurt those we love the most."

There was silence as the others pondered her words.

"I wish there was some way we could fix things for them," Merry said at last. "If Legolas came back, maybe . . ."

"Legolas won't come back," Gimli told them. "He's more stubborn than a Dwarf. We have to hope that Aragorn comes to his senses and goes after him."

The five of them turned back to watch Aragorn and shook their heads. The chances of that happening soon did not seem likely.

000

Aragorn made his way to his bedchamber, his footsteps slow. He was long past regretting his decision to host a reunion of the Fellowship. Nothing had gone as he had hoped. The Hobbits had begun to wear on his nerves, and Gimli looked ready to bury his axe in Aragorn's skull. Eowyn was not speaking to him, and Faramir gave him searching looks when the Steward thought he was unaware. And Legolas, well . . . the less time spent thinking of him the better.

Except he could not stop thinking of him and the way he had made Aragorn feel, at all. For a little while Aragorn had been happy again. There had been laughter and song in his life. Companionship. Now Legolas was gone, and there was no light, no warmth. There was only emptiness.

In his room, he took off his boots and set them aside. He prepared for bed, his movements automatic, before adding another piece of wood to the fire. Something caught his eye as he stood again, and he knelt to retrieve it, his breath catching in his throat as he stared at the object he now held-a small golden clasp in the design of a leaf such as those that closed Legolas' tunics. One end of it was broken and hanging.

"I want to see you . . . without clothes."

The frantic removal of a tunic, the sound of something hitting the wall and falling to the floor.

"Now you. I want to touch you."

Aragorn let the scene replay in his head, over and over, each time more slowly than the last. Legolas had been right–it had been beautiful between them, and bound to happen eventually. If he was honest with himself he had felt desire for the Elven archer for many years, long before that desperate kiss at the Black Gate. And Legolas was right, too, when he had pointed out that there was something between them.

And what had he done? He had panicked; he had pushed Legolas away. He was king, with duties and responsibilities to his people. They wanted, no, expected an heir some day, even though he had given no real indication that he would marry. They would not understand if he took a male lover. Those were the reasons he had clung to, but deep inside he had known they were mere excuses.

The truth, of course, was that he was afraid. He had given his heart once, and it had been shattered completely. He had been a shell of a man since Arwen's death. To risk his heart again, to live through that kind of pain once more, was something he did not think he could do.

He should have known it was already too late to guard his heart. It had already decided for him, though he had buried the feelings deep inside himself. Now they stirred within him, demanding acknowledgement, and this time he listened. Really listened. He closed his eyes as one thought, one truth, broke free of the walls he had erected—he loved Legolas. He always had. He always would.

And he needed him. Gods, how he needed him. Regret pelted Aragorn now, for not seeing, not wanting to try, for not accepting the love he had seen shining in Legolas' eyes. And for the pain he had caused. Valar, how could he ever earn Legolas' forgiveness?

He had been a fool, but no more. He would go to Legolas. He would explain. He would beg, do whatever it took to persuade Legolas to forgive him. He had to get to Legolas. His heart demanded it.

Aragorn hurried to the door and shouted for a servant to fetch Faramir. For what he planned to do, he needed an ally on the Council. He then took out his traveling pack and began throwing clothes into it. There was a knock, and he answered it, tunic in hand. He was surprised to find Gimli standing there.

"Aragorn-."

"Not now, Gimli," Aragorn interrupted. "I'm in a hurry."

"Hurry for what, Sire?" Faramir had arrived in time to hear.

"Good, Faramir . . . I'm riding north to the Woodland Realm."

"The Woodland Realm, Sire?"

"Yes. I'm going to win my consort, to claim him if he'll have me." He peered at Faramir for several moments. "Will there be any objections from the Council?"

"None that can't be dealt with."

Aragorn nodded. "Thank you." He turned back to Gimli once Faramir had gone. "Now then, what was it you wanted?"

The Dwarf grinned. "I came here to beat some sense into you, but I see it's not necessary. Too bad."

000

Legolas stared at the forest before him from the flet which he had climbed up to with slow steps. He had been here for nearly two days, wanting to spend time alone with his thoughts away from the concerned looks and well-meaning questions of his family. The sun was arcing its way toward the horizon, and he watched its course with a wan smile. These trees, this sunset . . . He would miss these things.

He shivered in the stirring breeze and drew his cloak more securely about his frame. He should build a fire, he thought, but he did not have the energy. Instead he sank to the wooden platform listlessly.

"Last night was a mistake; it should not have happened."

Legolas closed his eyes as the words echoed in his head. He wished that he could purge them from his mind, but they were there in his heart too, twisting like knives.

"I don't want you."

A tear slid down his cheek, but he ignored it. Thank the Valar no one knew how badly he hurt, how he grieved for what he had lost. For what he had never had. Though they would find out, he supposed, soon enough.

He was fading.


	11. Confrontations

The hall of the Elven King was unusually quiet when Aragorn was led into it, one royal guard flanking either side of him. He had ridden hard from Minas Tirith, anxious to reach Legolas, in spite of his own exhaustion. The sight of the imposing trees had never filled his heart with gladness, but it did so this journey, pushing back a growing sense of doom that he could not explain. He knew that his entry into the wood would be marked by sentries, but he soon found himself surrounded by stony faced Wood Elves with drawn bows.

They had said little to him and had offered no explanation as to why he was being treated as an enemy and a prisoner, but he was too concerned with getting to Legolas as quickly as possible. As they entered the throne room, however, he jerked his arms free of his guards. When they grabbed his arms again he began to struggle, only to go still as he saw Legolas' father slumped on his throne, his head in his hands. Uneasiness shivered up Aragorn's spine, and he turned questioning eyes on his guards, who ignored him, before facing the Elf King once more.

When Thranduil looked up at last, Aragorn felt as if his skin were being stripped away under the furious regard of the Elven King. Never had the differences between father and son been so pronounced as now. There was no gentleness in Thranduil, no humor in the eyes and it was easy to see the leader he had been on the battlefield.

"So you have come," Thranduil growled.

"Your Majesty. Is Legolas here? I must speak with him."

"He will not see you, Elessar." Thranduil sneered the last word. He gripped the arms of his throne. "What kind of man are you? I have shown you hospitality, I agreed to guard that wretched Gollum for you, and this is how you repay me?"

Aragorn's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"You were raised among Elves. You know our customs. How could you not see what you were doing?" Thranduil rose and walked toward Aragorn, his angry voice rising in volume with each sentence, so that it echoed around the chamber. "Did you think I would approve? I do not! And furthermore, your behavior toward my son has been abominable. Your actions alone show you are not worthy of him."

"What have I done?" Aragorn asked, confused. Yes, he and Legolas had argued, but it was not Thranduil's affair, and he doubted Legolas would have confided such, and the reasons behind it, to his father. Would he? As for being worthy of Legolas, he knew that he was not, but if Legolas accepted him, again, it was not Thranduil's concern.

If possible, Thranduil's voice grew even louder. "What have you done? You have bonded with my son against my will, joining his soul to your own, and then you rejected him. Did you not know what that would do to him?"

"I have done no such thing," Aragorn denied, his brow furrowing. He had been drunk that night, but he would have noticed something so important as a bonding taking place.

"You lie. He carries the scar to prove it. You have bonded with him and then cast him aside. And now he is dying because of you!"

"Dying . . ." Aragorn paled. A pain-filled dart lodged in his chest. Legolas, dying. No, he refused to believe it. And yet, if they had somehow become bound, and Legolas thought Aragorn did not want him . . . No. He could not think of it. He took a step forward. "If he is dying then let me see him. If we are bound you cannot deny me this. I demand to see him."

Thranduil drew his sword. "You are in no position to make demands here. I should kill you where you stand."

Aragorn saw the flash of metal, but he was too worried about Legolas to dodge the blow that was coming. He felt the tip of the blade pierce the skin of his neck and blood trickle down. Thranduil's steel blue eyes glittered dangerously into his own. At that moment, Aragorn realized he was closer to death than he had ever been, but he did not flinch.

"Run me through, then, and be done with it, but let me see him first. I need to apologize."

"Nothing would give me greater satisfaction than to kill you," Thranduil growled. He drew his sword back as if to plunge it through Aragorn's neck, but instead he flung the weapon aside with an angry shout. "But killing you would not bring him back, for all you deserve it."

The defeat in Thranduil's voice frightened Aragorn and he raised a hand in supplication. "Please, Your Majesty, let me see him."

"He will not see you. I will not allow you to see him."

A door to Thranduil's right opened slowly. "Adar. I will listen to him."

Aragorn turned eagerly at the sound of Legolas' voice, his heart hammering in his chest. Legolas' appearance startled him. Dark circles showed beneath dull eyes. His hair hung limp about drooping shoulders. He looked as if he had lost weight. Aragorn's greeting died in his throat. He moved toward Legolas, but Thranduil had already hurried forward to intercept his son.

"Legolas . . ."

"Father, I know you mean well, but this is something I must do. If you will leave us alone, please."

"Legolas, you are not well, and the fault lies with him." Thranduil turned and leveled another glare at Aragorn.

"I am well enough for this," Legolas replied. "Please, Ada."

Thranduil gazed at his son for several moments before relenting. He moved away, pausing at the door. "If you have need of me . . ."

Legolas inclined his head slightly toward his father. He continued staring at the door even after Thranduil had left, gathering the strength he would need to face Aragorn, though he doubted he would ever have enough for that. Finally he moved toward his own chair near his father's throne and sat down heavily upon it.

"What are you doing here, Aragorn?"

The question was so softly spoken Aragorn barely heard it. Still reeling from his encounter with Thranduil and his shock upon seeing Legolas in such a state, he could only reply, "Your father says that we are bound."

"It is so, but do not distress yourself, for it will not be for much longer."

"'Do not distress myself?'" Aragorn moved before Legolas and stared up at him. "You are fading, Legolas. How can that not distress me?"

"Forgive me, but I do not see how news of your freedom from our bond should upset you."

Aragorn clenched his jaw and raked a hand through already disheveled hair. "Of course your dying would upset me. Do you really believe it wouldn't?"

"I don't know what to believe anymore," Legolas whispered.

"Then will you at least give me a chance to explain? I need to say some things to you, and I–."

"You said enough the last time we spoke. More than enough. Shall I repeat your words to you?"

He could have; every cruel syllable was etched into his heart. He glared at Aragorn, anger, hurt, and grief radiating from his entire being. Why had Aragorn come to torment him further?

Aragorn stared at Legolas and thought he should revise his earlier estimation that Thranduil and his son were completely different in manner. Clearly, they were more alike than not. But underneath the glacial stare lurked a deep sadness, a hurt that Aragorn knew he had caused through careless words and actions.

Guilt welled up within Aragorn. "I would cut out my tongue if it would make those words fade from both our hearts. Please, you must believe me. I was foolish and blind. I didn't realize that I loved you."

Legolas closed his eyes. Oh, how he wanted to believe, not because he was dying, but because until recently he had cherished some hope that Aragorn would come and say these very things to him. And now it was too late. He raised his head to gaze at Aragorn

"Fine words to speak now. Did you expect that you could come here and say you loved me and all would be well?"

"I expected that our friendship meant something to you. I know I hurt you, and I'm sorry, but-."

"You were sorry then too. You were ashamed of what we had done, and you pushed me away. You said you . . . didn't want me."

"I wasn't ashamed, I was afraid. And I begged you to stay."

Legolas' eyes darkened. "And how would things have been between us had I stayed? You would have avoided me, made excuses at every turn." His voice fell to a whisper. "Do you know how I felt that morning, Aragorn? I felt used. Soiled."

Aragorn shook his head in denial. "You know it wasn't like that."

"I know no such thing," Legolas replied, beginning to tremble. Fear and hope warred within his breast, with fear gaining the upper hand. "I don't know if I can trust you anymore, Aragorn. Not now. You say you love me, but I don't know if I can believe you."

Legolas continued to gaze at him for several more heartbeats, before his head drooped slightly. He had miscalculated how trying it might be to see Aragorn, and he suddenly wanted to be as far away from him as possible. Nevertheless, he stood and faced Aragorn with as much dignity as he could muster.

"I am weary, Aragorn. I will have Galion show you to your chamber."

And then he turned and walked away, leaving the King of Men staring after him.


	12. Second Chances

At first Aragorn did not react. Then his mind whirled and he cursed himself. He had been too stunned by his reception and the news that he was bound to Legolas, too shocked by the revelation that Legolas was dying to do what needed to be done, to say what he so desperately needed to say. He had mouthed stupid inanities while Thranduil had threatened him and worse, had talked of friendship-friendship-with his mate. He had reacted like a blithering fool. Like a callow youth in his first battle standing stupidly by while his fellow men were killed. Aragorn closed his eyes, cursing himself and his inaction. Then he slammed a fist down onto the arm of the chair Legolas had just vacated.

He was not going to let things end this way. It was not too late, by the Valar it wasn't! He was damned if he was going to let Legolas die.

He strode to the door and pushed past the dour-faced Galion, who was just coming to open it. Frustrated, determined, more afraid than he had ever been, Aragorn hurried to the family wing, thankful he recalled the way in spite of the years and his agitated feelings. Legolas stood leaning against his chamber door and Aragorn's heart lurched. He looked so defeated, so melancholy, and Aragorn hurried forward, afraid that Legolas would succumb then and there.

He reached him, one hand coming to rest on a shoulder. That Legolas did not move or even seem to detect his presence frightened Aragorn even more.

Legolas did not turn. "Go away."

"I'm not going away. I love you. Please look at me."

A servant scurried past, his footsteps light on the stone floor. Aragorn felt his eyes boring into him as he moved behind him.

"I'll stay here, making a nuisance of myself, causing all kinds of talk in the cavern."

Legolas raised his head from where it had rested against the door and slowly turned. "Say what you have to say then."

Aragorn opened his mouth, but instead he caught Legolas roughly to him and before the Elf could push him away kissed him long and hard and deep, pouring all his love and desire into it. He felt Legolas struggle against him and reluctantly let him go.

"Are you daft?" Legolas asked, eyes bright.

"For you, yes," Aragorn answered. "Now will you listen or at least let me into your room?"

Legolas nodded and ushered the king into his chamber. He waited, hands fisted at his sides, for Aragorn to speak. But Aragorn's mouth found his again and Legolas could fight neither him nor his feelings this time. He moaned eagerly, hungrily, and kissed him back.

At last Aragorn drew away slightly but a hand rested on Legolas' arm. "I know I didn't say what you needed to hear, but listen to me now. Please. You're my mate and I'm not going to let you die. I can't let you die." Then he softened his voice. "I love you and need you, Legolas. Please forgive me."

Legolas pushed him away. "Why did you say those things to me then, that morning?"

Aragorn closed his eyes. "Because I was afraid. After Arwen died, I didn't want to feel such loss again. I thought if I could stop myself from caring about you if anything happened to you I wouldn't hurt so much. I didn't count on how much more pain your leaving me would cause. I lied when I said I didn't want you. I want you so much I can't think straight."

"I-."

"Will this convince you?" Aragorn released his hold on Legolas and withdrew the ring of Barahir from his finger. He reached for Legolas' right hand and began to place the ring on his third finger.

The prince shook his head, eyes wide. "I cannot take this."

Aragorn's gaze met Legolas' surprised one. "I want this bond, and I want you in my life, for however long that might be."

"And if we were not bound and I was not dying?" Legolas asked.

"I would still want you," Aragorn replied earnestly, falling to his knees before him. He caught a hand and raised it to his lips, a kiss of devotion and fealty to the one he loved above all. "Please give me another chance, Legolas. Please. I know it's asking much of you after what I've said and done, but-.

"I can't deny that you hurt me, Aragorn," Legolas said, drawing the man to his feet, "but neither can I deny that I love you."

Aragorn crushed him close, his heart thumping hard against his chest. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'm so sorry. Tell me how I can make it up to you."

"You can love me," Legolas answered, managing, in spite of being held so tightly, to kiss him.

Aragorn pressed himself even more against him. "Always."

"No. Now."

Aragorn gasped as Legolas unfastened first his cloak, then his tunic, and warm lips pressed into the hollow of his throat. "Now? Are you sure you have the strength?"

"Do you?" Legolas paused in his quest to get at as much of Aragorn's skin as possible. Doubt began to rise inside him again and he raised his eyes to meet Aragorn's. "Unless you don't want-."

Aragorn's mouth covering his effectively silenced him. Shaking hands fumbled with the clasps of his clothing and Legolas moved his own to help, but Aragorn batted them gently away. Torso bared, he shivered slightly and Aragorn muttered an oath.

He urged Legolas to the bed and quickly joined him there, legs entangling and hands exploring bare skin as they kissed again and again. Aragorn frowned at the weight Legolas had lost and cursed himself inwardly for causing him such grief. For causing him to nearly die. He felt unworthy of him all over again, and he murmured once more, "I'm sorry."

"I will be whole again, with your love," Legolas said.

Aragorn raised his head to look at him. Some color had returned to Legolas' face, his eyes seemed alive again. Perhaps it was only the flush of arousal, but it seemed to him that Legolas was already regaining his health. His skin seemed warmer to the touch and his eyes shone. Aragorn's gaze swept downward to admire his lean frame, one hand following to stroke over the smooth pale skin.

"I do regret one thing about that night," he said, his voice quiet. He met Legolas' gaze again. "That I couldn't see you properly. You're beautiful."

"And so are you," Legolas said.

He tugged until Aragorn was sprawled atop him, cradling him between his thighs. Their engorged shafts brushed together and they both gasped. Aragorn bent to kiss him again and shifted his hips at the same time. Legolas moaned his pleasure at the friction and moved in counterpoint at the next thrust forward. His hands slid down to cup Aragorn's buttocks and his head fell back as Aragorn set a slow pace, driving him mad.

"I want to feel you inside me," Legolas panted.

Aragorn stared down at his mate as his pulse hammered even faster at the thought of being inside Legolas, of being joined with him in that way. But he was afraid of hurting him. He had done more than enough of that these last weeks. "Are you certain?"

"As certain as I am of anything. I want to be one with you," Legolas assured him.

"I'll need something to ease the way," Aragorn murmured, drawing on talk he had overheard over the years from his men.

"Bath oil?" Legolas suggested, motioning toward the alcove where a tub stood, a bottle on a shelf nearby.

Aragorn retrieved it quickly. "I'll be careful," he promised as he knelt between Legolas' thighs.

"I trust you," Legolas said, and willed his body to relax and accept the first tentative invasion of Aragorn's fingers.

Aragorn watched him closely and though Legolas bit his lower lip and closed his eyes, he made no sound. Slowly he continued, stretching his lover's body, adding a second digit and a third. Legolas' body jerked and he moaned, and Aragorn let his fingers brush over the spot that seemed to have caused it again. The reaction was instant and gratifying, and Aragorn felt himself twitch and throb as passion-glazed eyes focused on him and Legolas whispered his name.

He knew then the absolute need to bury himself inside Legolas, to be sheathed completely in such tightness and heat. Hoping he had prepared Legolas enough, Aragorn slicked his hard length and aligned himself at his mate's opening. His eyes sought Legolas' own, silently asking permission and at the same time reassuring him they could stop if he wished.

Legolas' voice was thick with lust. "Please."

It was all Aragorn needed to hear to spur him into action, and he eased into his lover's body with infinite care. He stared down at Legolas, whose eyes reflected both pain and love, not daring to move until the former had cleared, and then he set an arduously slow rhythm. Legolas wrapped his legs about him and drew him down for a kiss, shattering Aragorn's control. He began to move in earnest, driving into Legolas' eager, welcoming body.

Legolas cried out, arching his back as ripples of ecstasy rushed through him. Each stroke now sent him spiraling toward his release, and when Aragorn's hand moved to stroke him, Legolas' seed spattered between their bodies.

"Gods, Aragorn . . ."

A moment later he felt the flood of heat as Aragorn filled him, and he tightened his grip on him as he felt the tremors take his lover's body. Legolas held him close, whispering endearments, as the last shudders of bliss abated, stroking the sweat-dampened hair, his gaze warm and his heart glad.

Aragorn moved slowly, withdrawing from Legolas and rolling over onto his back beside him. Something had been niggling at the back of his mind and now he voiced it. "We've been bound since that night we became blood brothers, haven't we?" he asked. He maneuvered himself onto his side and caught Legolas' hand. He rubbed a thumb over the scar in the palm as he gazed at his mate.

"Yes," Legolas answered. "I should have realized at the time, for I felt something, but it didn't occur to me until later what had happened." He rolled to his side to face Aragorn again. "Was it a mistake, I wonder, on the part of the Valar, to sanction something we did not intend?"

"Who knows. Then again, maybe we did mean it. Or maybe I did. I've loved you for a long time, Legolas," Aragorn admitted. "Loved you and desired you."

Legolas smiled slowly. "They are wise," he murmured, "and perhaps we both wanted what we could not admit. The Valar must have heard our hearts."

He kissed Aragorn then, long and hard, before settling into his embrace, and they fell into contented sleep.


	13. The World in His Arms

"His Majesty would like to see you in his study."

Legolas nodded once to the king's long time butler. At least his father had waited until morning to send for them. He turned toward Aragorn, admiring the man's thick musculature from behind as Aragorn bent to tug his boots on and then don his shirt. "We've been summoned."

Aragorn's hands paused in the task of fastening his tunic. "What do you think he'll say?" he asked, Thranduil's lecture and threats all too fresh in his mind. Not that he was afraid, exactly, not for himself, but he wondered whether the Elf king would cause Legolas pain. He did not know him well. Would he forbid their bond even now, when Legolas had forgiven him and seemed to be returning to health?

"Father can be quite fierce when it comes to protecting his family," Legolas said, "but he is not unreasonable."

"I'm glad. Of both. For your sake."

Legolas moved from the door and pulled Aragorn close. For long moments his lips roamed over Aragorn's. His mate's. "You still hold some fear in your heart," he said, releasing Aragorn.

"For you," Aragorn admitted softly. He had not said so before, knowing Legolas would have scoffed at his worry. "When I die, what of you?"

"You fear I'll begin to fade again?"

Aragorn closed his eyes. "Yes." Shaking his head, he stepped back slightly. "Look what I've done to you already. When I'm gone, what will happen to you?"

"I will be fine," Legolas replied, the thought of Aragorn dying making his heart clench in pain. "It was your seeming rejection that led to me giving up hope and grieving. Now that we are together as one I can bear it when the time comes. Not easily, no. Never easily. But you know I have felt the Sea Longing. When you. . . pass, I shall sail. Now," he added, "we had better go."

And with that, Aragorn had no choice but to let himself be dragged along to Thranduil's study, Legolas' fingers twining with his as they walked. They were strong and warm, reassuring. Still, Aragorn cleared his throat nervously as stopped at a door at the end of a short passageway from Legolas' quarters. He felt like a suitor asking permission to court his beloved, and in a way he supposed he was, only after the fact, rather than before. When Legolas knocked upon the door and it was answered with a loud command of "Enter!" Aragorn swallowed again, then berated himself. He was a king. Aragorn drew himself to his full height and followed after Legolas, who had already entered the chamber. He moved to stand beside him.

"You look well, my son," Thranduil observed, rising from his desk and striding forward to clasp Legolas on his shoulders. He searched his son's face, his eyes piercing. Then he glanced from his son to Aragorn and back again. "I take it the two of you have sorted things out.

Legolas nodded once, and Thranduil looked again at Aragorn. "I must say, I expected more from you."

To his consternation, Aragorn felt heat rise up his neck and blanket his face. "I have not been myself these many days."

"Yet you've redeemed yourself in Legolas' eyes. It seems I shall have to skewer you another time."

Aragorn lowered his gaze. "I never would have put him through this. Had I known. . ."

"I still have my reservations regarding this match you've made, Legolas," Thranduil said. "Aragorn may be long-lived, but he is a man, a mortal. He will die one day and then you will surely fade from grief. You know this."

"Yes, I know the risks, but I know too that I would rather have a few years with him than none at all. As for his mortality, I have already spoken of this with Aragorn, and I've told him that when he dies I will answer the call of the sea. I shall sail to Aman. There I will find peace."

"And you're willing to put yourself through that?"

"Yes," Legolas answered. "But I don't want to speak more of it now. I love him, Father. Will you give your blessing?"

Thranduil sighed heavily. "It is a hard life you have chosen, to be among Men, to be bound to one, but your happiness and health matter more to me than any misgivings I might have. You have my blessing."

"That went better than expected," Aragorn breathed when they left the king's study. "I thought for sure I'd be sent to the dungeon."

Legolas laughed. "If he meant to do that you would have been thrown in there last night. As I said, he is not unreasonable. And perhaps he had hope that you would manage to convince me of your sincerity."

"And have I?" Aragorn asked softly.

"Aye," Legolas whispered, kissing him quickly, hungrily. "You have."

000

They returned to Minas Tirith to find the streets lined with well-wishers. Cheers went up as the pair rode side by side toward the Citadel. The noise assaulted Legolas' ears, but it also put to rest his worries that news of his and Aragorn's official binding had been badly received. Apparently Faramir had worked wonders with the Council. The king's obvious happiness only added fuel to the crowd's enthusiasm, sending the applause to new levels.

"What did you do?" Legolas asked his bond mate over the din.

"I did nothing except send word to Faramir that you were returning with me." Aragorn eyed Legolas a little apprehensively. "I hope it's not too much."

"No, no, it's fine. I just did not expect this."

"Nor did I, actually," Aragorn replied.

Once they dismounted they were immediately surrounded by Gimli and the Hobbits, who had remained behind longer than originally planned. Neither Aragorn nor Legolas complained, though it was late and their journey had been long. They were among friends and their own joy was hard to keep to themselves.

"I knew it. I knew it all along. Can't fool a Dwarf," Gimli announced, grinning broadly. "And it's about time, too!"

"That it is, Gimli," Aragorn agreed. "That it is."

"Now about that Old Toby," Merry said, poking Gimli with his elbow.

"You mean the ale. And I expect it to be delivered as soon as possible."

Aragorn exchanged a look with Legolas, then the two of them drew away and headed toward the Citadel's massive doors. When they glanced back, it appeared the Dwarf and Hobbit were still animatedly discussing the matter, while Sam and Pippin were adding their own thoughts.

"What was that about?" Legolas wondered.

"No idea. But whatever it is I'm sure they'll come to some sort of agreement."

"Maybe," Legolas replied. "But you know how stubborn Dwarves can be. . ."

000

Aragorn and Legolas were surprised to find a banquet had been planned in their honor, so instead of the quiet repast they had hoped to share in the privacy of the king's chambers, Aragorn and Legolas endured course after course, toast after toast, in the dining hall among as many guests as could fit inside. But at last the feast ended, and they slipped away, thanks in no small part to the clever diversionary tactics of their friends–mugs of ale and verses of Hobbit song.

A dignified race through the corridors later the door to the king's chambers closed with a quiet thud. Aragorn paused to place the bolt, and when he turned he found himself pinned to the door as Legolas' warm mouth descended upon his. The searing kiss went on and on, and Aragorn responded eagerly to the hunger in it.

Smiling against the pleasurable onslaught, Aragorn ran his hands over Legolas' trim body and began walking them toward the bed. He parted his lips and met Legolas' tongue with his own, enjoying the sensation and the taste that was uniquely his mate's. Aragorn felt as much as heard the quick intake of breath as he suckled gently on the sensitive muscle. He savored the reaction, cataloging it along with the rough moans that came from Legolas' throat. The sounds and the feel of Legolas moving against him inflamed Aragorn's senses and blood rushed to his groin.

"Have you ever known such a long evening?" Aragorn gasped as Legolas began to nibble up Aragorn's throat. His own hands impatiently worked free Legolas' belt and tunic.

"No," Legolas moaned as he felt Aragorn's hands slide down to cup his buttocks. He hurriedly worked to divest Aragorn of his shirt, desperate to feel Aragorn's skin against his own. "I thought the banquet would never end."

"You were not helping," Aragorn growled, pulling Legolas back against himself. "One more look of yours and I would have been ready to shock the court."

Legolas' sigh changed into a growl as Aragorn thrust his pelvis against his own. His hands ran over Aragorn's back, tangled in the dark hair, pulled the bearded face to his own for another kiss. "I am the very soul of discretion. . ."

"With eyes and body and thoughts that would make a eunuch hard."

Legolas' throaty laughter echoed about the chamber as they fell onto the bed, still trying to undress one another. He pushed Aragorn to his back and began to undo the laces of his trousers. "Can I help it if I crave touching you?"

A few rolls and desperate tugs later they lay skin against skin, with Aragorn smiling wickedly down at him as he shifted his weight, bringing their erections into alignment. His head dipped to the hollow at the base of Legolas' throat. Legolas' deep moans vibrated against Aragorn's lips as he explored lower.

"I love the sounds you make," Aragorn breathed.

Before he could move lower Aragorn found himself drawn up flush against Legolas' body and his lips claimed by his lover as he rolled them over once again. He stared up into Legolas' darkened eyes and a shudder of anticipation ran through him. Aragorn was becoming very familiar with that look.

"Not as much as I love yours."

And then Legolas bent to the pleasurable task of drawing as many of them from his mate as he could.

000

A long while later, Aragorn stirred, sighing in contentment, pleasantly exhausted. He could still feel Legolas' hands stroking, could still feel his mate filling him. Tomorrow he would not sit easily, but it was a price Aragorn was willing to bear for the joy of watching Legolas make love to him.

He was about to speak when soft, even breathing met his ears. Aragorn rolled toward Legolas and leaned up on an elbow. The mouth that had earlier been contorted with pleasure was curved into a smile; the eyes that had glowed with love and passion were wide and vacant. Aragorn's fingers itched to caress the chiseled face, but he checked the impulse, happy to merely watch Legolas sleep.

Aragorn could not suppress the smile that sprang to his lips. Everything he'd thought he knew about himself, all of his expectations for the future, had been taken apart and rearranged into a new paradigm. Aragorn had thought never to feel again. He had thought to remain alone. But Legolas had changed all that, and for the first time in a long while Aragorn felt wanted–not for who he was or what he was, but simply as a man. It was a wonderful feeling, to be loved so unconditionally.

Aragorn shifted position and drew Legolas into his arms, spooning himself against the warm body, still smiling. In his sleep Legolas scooted closer. Aragorn pressed a kiss to the pale gold hair before his eyes finally drifted shut, happiness welling up inside him.

No longer did the future seem gloomy. Light had come to dispel the darkness, light in the form of a golden warrior, whose love had proven as true as his aim.

The End

Thank you all for reading. Happy Valentine's Day.


End file.
